Deadly
by nine miles to go
Summary: Everything seems perfectly normal. After all, it's just flu season, right? Everyone feels crappy. But J.D. could be wrong about that...JDA!
1. Chapter One

This is, obviously, my first Scrubs fic. So...er...yeah. REVIEW, PLZ! And hopefully I'll inspire more J.D.-fans to write. Please? I've run outta J.D. fics to read!

Disclaimer: Don't own Scrubs...but I may just own your SOUL now...MWAHAHAHA.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

Look right. Look left. Look right again.

When you look from the outside, Sacred Heart seems like a perfectly normal hospital. But really, when you walk in, it's sort of like crossing a street. Well, actually it's more like jumping blindly into six lanes worth of traffic during rush hour, but that aside it's a pretty cool place. Unless you run into, say, Dr. Kelso or Dr. Cox or something.

Or, you know, the janitor, who luckily enough just happens to be fixing the heating vent by the door.

_J.D. runs into busy freeway and gets violently smacked by a humungous truck; the camera slides over to reveal it's a mushroom packaging company..._

I hate mushrooms.

"Hiya, Scooter," he says amiably as I walk by.

I look around the lobby. Three people, two looking okay and one with a particularly bloody nose that another was trying to quench it, sat watching us. I narrowed my eyes at him. Maybe he just doesn't want to look bad in front of the patients.

"I'm J—"

"Look, Scooter, all I wanted was to be your friend!" he cries out loudly. "If you really think I'm a lousy janitor and I should go to hell, then _fine_! What kind of a doctor are you, anyway?"

"Uh…"

I've learned in the past few weeks just to let these things go. It's not like anyone cares, right? Nobody's watching. The patients don't take notice.

"You bastard," the man with the bloody nose says to me. "I was a janitor a' an ebemendary schoo' 'or seben years! Id's not a' eaby job!"

"Sorry, sir," I mumble, just racing out of the lobby as fast as I can.

"Hey, Bambi," Carla greets me. "How's it going?"

"Um, good?"

Carla laughs. "Well, good for you. Could you do some kid's stitches in room eight over there? I can't find Elliot anywhere and I'm too busy."

"Sure thing. Seen Turk anywhere?"

"Oh, he's on lunch break," she says vaguely, reading something and brushing me off.

I check my watch. It's not even nine o'clock. "Riiiiighty, then. I'll just go do those stitches, I guess."

"You do that, Bambi."

"Aliens attacked my room last night," I added just for good measure.

"Oh, that's wonderful. Keep it up, alright? I'll be in over in room three if you need me." She walks off and I try to hold in a laugh.

_Fantasy of aliens poking Carla in the back…aliens see she is unresponsive and suck her into their mothership, carrying her away while she still reads her reports..._

"What? What's so funny, Annie?" asks Dr. Cox, coming up behind me from nowhere. "Do share. I'd really like to know what goes on in the minds of hormonal, teenage girls. Did you use the wrong color of nail polish? Forget to pluck your eyebrows? Heaven forbid, Tammy."

"Um, no, sir, I was just going to…"

"Brush your hair? Have fun with that, Sue."

"Sure."

See? I've gotten used to it by now. There's a flow here at the hospital. Do what you're supposed to do, try not to say something stupid to anyone, and basically be the doctor. I'm having a problem with the second one.

Suddenly my head twangs with a sharp pain. I pause for a moment by the doorway, but it passes as suddenly as it comes. I shook it off. Just one of those morning headaches.

* * *

Elliot's POV

"Well, as soon as we manage to get that cast back on you should be free to go, Mr. Richards," I tell the man in my chirpy-peppy-doctor voice. It's funny how talking to your patients makes you feel like that little fourth-grader trying to impress the teacher all over again. You don't want to come off rude or like a suck-up.

So I opt for suck-up.

"Alright," he responds, staring at the blank television on the wall and not making eye contact. "Thanks, then."

"You're welcome," I say in the cheerleader persona again. "Oh, hey, J.D. How are you feeling today?"

He looks up at me, his eyes off-focus for a moment. Then he snaps back. "Elliot, turn it off," he scolds me.

"Turn off what?"

"Your patient voice," he sighs, exasperated. "I'm not one of them, you can turn it off now."

I blush. "Shut up! We're still in earshot."

He makes a scoffing noise. "They can't hear us, we're like twenty feet away."

I roll my eyes. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Well, ex_cuse _me, I just came to stitch up the little guy over there, if you don't mind. See you later, then."

"Hey," I catch his arm as he walks past me. "Are you alright?"

He frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Just seemed a little off."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean? Don't you walk away from me! Take that back!" J.D. calls after me. I smirk, rolling my eyes again. Sometimes you just can't help but laugh at that guy.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

The hours pass by relatively smoothly. There were a couple of emergencies earlier in the day—a single car crashed into a ditch, a man burned himself pretty badly making spaghettios, a little kid swallowed a penny. But now comes my favorite time of the day.

Lunch.

"Hey, over here," Turk waves to me. I grimace, seeing "The Todd" sitting next to him. It's my lucky day.

"So, how's it going?" Turk asked as I sat down.

"Fairly well. Nothing too extreme. Elliot and I played cards for about fifteen minutes before that freakish intern Bobby smelled Kelso coming down the hall."

"Smelled?"

"Smelled," I confirm, nodding. I look down at my lunch and suddenly feel grossed out. "You know, I'm not that hungry. I'm just going to go watch TV or something until lunch is over."

"Man, I know how that feels," Todd interjects, his face dawning that dreamy look that I dread so much. Ding ding! Sex reference alert! "Last night, when this girl and I were—"

Told ya so.

"Um, uh, wonderful, I think I hear Elliot calling me," I lie. "Yeah? Yeah, I'm coming!" I pretend to call out to her.

I feel a poke on my back.

Oh crap. She's right behind me, isn't she? Master plan SO failed. Why? Why can't I get ONE decent break around here?

_Mythical figure descends from the sky, saying in a booming voice, "J.D., you have received your gift of the day…Bobby's gift of smell." Suddenly he frowns, no longer looking mythical but looking pissed. "Now shut up and leave me alone, I'm trying to shop online." It ascends again_

"Sorry," I mutter to it.

"Huh? Did you just say my name?" Elliot asks. "I thought I heard my name."

"Your name? I—er—thought you were calling me."

She looks down and sees The Todd. "Ah. I see. Maybe it was Carla. You'd better get going, then, they might need you."

"Right. Exactly," I agree, mouthing a 'thank you' before turning to run and escape out in the hall.

As soon as I'm out of the cafeteria, though, that headache thing comes back. _Where are you now, buddy? _I ask my mythical figure. Inches from the lounge, I have to stop and lean against the wall for a moment. It doesn't stop this time for a full minute, and all I can hear is the sound of my heart beating in my head like an obnoxious metronome straight from band hell.

Finally it stops. I sigh in relief and manage to recollect myself.

* * *

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was slow, but you know, first chappie and everything. RnR, pretty please! I'll love you LOOOTSSS!


	2. Chapter Two

TWO REVIEWS! YESSSSS! And here I was thinking that the Scrubs fanfiction domain was a complete ghost town. There ARE people here! HIIIIIII! Lol.

..._ball of twigs rolls lazily down the street (cue midwestern music)..._

Disclaimer:I own nothing. But guess what? There's this really cool advertisement for eye make-up at the top of this page. (loses attention span). Uh...what was I saying? Oh yeah. Don't own anything. Wish I did. (SIGHS)

* * *

Dr. Cox's POV

I can't believe they killed Tamara. She was my _favorite _character! They probably fired her, the bastards. That's the only explanation for that piano falling off the edge of the porch. She's not gonna live. I'm a doctor, I know this.

Yet I read a magazine saying that 90 percent of comatose patients reawaken on soap operas, so there's always a small chance the piano will just give her extreme amnesia for the remainder of the season.

I shrug. "That was crap," I say to Lavern. "Absolute crap."

She blows her nose on a tissue. "Poor Tamara!" she exclaims.

"Suck it up," I mutter, getting up from the couch to check the clock. I yawn, stretching out my back. "Twenty minutes left to do whatever the hell I want," I think aloud. "What to do, what to do?"

Lavern shrugged. "Sit aimlessly, basically."

I think about it. "Appealing, but maybe I'll go for a walk outside and actually see the sun for once," I say sarcastically. "At least I save big money on sunscreen."

When I walk outside, though, I see someone even paler than I am—which is unusual, since we're pretty much cooped in here the whole freaking day. I cock my head, making sure it's not just one of the newbie's more "imaginative" moments (gotta wonder what the hell's going through his head when he does that, but part of me would rather not know). He's resting against the wall right by the door with his head on his hand, completely unaware of my presence.

Perfect. I found something to do.

"Wake up!" I yell loudly.

He jumps into the air like a skyrocket. "D-Dr. Cox—I—I'm on my lunch break," he says rapidly. "I'm not hiding. I swear."

"Sure, Carol. Whatever. Be back by twelve-thirty and try not to fall asleep in the middle of hallways, why don't you?"

He laughs nervously. "Just, er, thinking to myself."

That confirms it. It was another one of the newbie's "moments." Typical, I think to myself, but at least he doesn't do it during a crisis. I might have to kill him if he did.

"Go think on your own time. This is a hospital, we're not allowed to think here," I snap, walking away. Something nags at me as I leave him standing there, but I hear the lounge door close behind him and figure he'd tell me if there was something wrong. Besides, the interns are _not _my problem. I am by no means a babysitter.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

I stare blankly at the television.

"You know that's not on, right?" asks Lavern, waving her hands in front of my face.

"I'm sleeping," I inform her with my eyes still wide open. "Psychologically, I am fast asleep in fairy land. I can't see your hand. I can't hear you. I'm sleeping."

"Lunch is over in about thirty seconds. You might want to get up."

I groan. "Is it really? It feels like it's been five." I stretch out my arms, standing up slowly. Every muscle in my body seems to ache. "I felt like I worked out for three hours," I laugh.

_J.D. lifts two three-thousand pound weights in the gym, struggling with ferocious intensity. Turk walks over and pokes him lightly in the arm. The enormous barbells come down on top of J.D., effectively squashing him… _

"Men," says Lavern, rolling her eyes at me.

"I was kidding," I tell her. She scoffs. "No, seriously, I never workout—"

"We can tell!" Turk interrupts, his head popping into the lounge door. "By the way, Elliot said to grab you. She needs your help—she's got half a million papers to go through, according to her."

"Papers," I sigh, relieved. "Can do." Energy renewed, I bounce off the fatigue. I'm a doctor now. Being tired isn't allowed anymore.

My eyes widen when I see the gigantic stack of papers sitting beside Elliot.

"Are you serious?" I exclaim. "When Turk said half a million, I thought he was exaggerating!"

Elliot puts her hands on her hips and glares. "Suck it up. We had a lot of back-up over the last few days and I had trouble filling things out."

"Okey-dokey, then, let's get to it," I say with phony enthusiasm, grabbing the paper on the top. "Verizon? What's this?"

"Huh? Oh! Give that back, that's my phone bill," Elliot explains.

I hold it up in the air away from her. "Tsk tsk, Elliot, who have you been text messaging so often? That's quite a hefty bill you've got there."

"It's fifty dollars. You should have seen Turk's."

"Who does Turk text message?"

"His _mom_."

"You're kidding, right?"

Silence. She snatches back the paper.

"Right?"

Elliot sighs. "Just get to work, okay? We should be able to finish this in an hour or so if we hurry."

"Yeah, and Kelso will make statues out of us and start chanting 'All hail the newbies.' This is going to take all day."

She's already started, though, completely blocking me out. I plant myself in a chair, taking one last look at the enormous pile before finally giving in and starting. Paperwork. Easier than rushing around the hospital…more boring than those lectures in college. And to think I actually _paid _those people to rant at me. It shocks me to this day.

My head starts to ache again, but not nearly as bad as before. Just one of those slow, steady headaches that don't go away for awhile. At least it's not as extreme as last time. It's probably just flu season. Everyone's susceptible to getting sick around this time.

* * *

Elliot's POV

Sixteen forms filled out…ten million to go. So far several of the nurses have managed to hold back a laugh as they walked past, but most were unsuccessful. I guess the huge pile of papers is a little awkward, but what else could we do? Ignore it? It's not going to go away.

"Wow."

I look up and see Carla. She's got a huge grin on her face. "Need help?"

"No," I snap. I sigh. "Sorry. You know what I mean. I think Dr. Cox would have a fit if he saw the just the two of us doing all this paperwork—_three _people off the job, and he'd probably just explode."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Carla agrees, nodding. "It's not like you've missed much. There's only been one car accident since lunch, and it was mostly cuts and bruises with one broken leg."

"That's good," I say. "I haven't been paged yet, either, so that means no major emergencies."

"Gotta love days like this. Hey, Bambi, what's the matter with you?"

I look over next to me. J.D.'s pen is shaking in his hand uncontrollably.

"Nothing," he mutters, dropping the pen. His hands continue to shake. "I guess it's just cold in here."

"The air conditioning broke this morning. It's, like, eighty degrees in here. Are you crazy?"

"Quite possibly," he laughs weakly. "I'm fine, though. I'll just bring my long-sleeved shirt again. It's all good."

"If you're sure," Carla says doubtfully. "Well, I'd better go. Never know when something will happen, right? But watch it, Bambi," Carla adds warningly.

"Why? You're gonna come get me? I can take you," J.D. teases her.

She grins. "In your _dreams_," she says. "Now get back to work—that is, if you want to come home tonight." She snickers at us, walking down the hall.

I open my mouth to say something to J.D., but a phone ringing interrupts me. J.D. pulls his phone out of his pocket with a confused expression on his face. "Who calls me while I'm at the hospital? Nobody _ever _calls me here. That's so…" He looks at the Caller ID and, breaking the hospital rules, answers the phone.

"Hello?" he asks. "Oh! Hi…No, I'm good. I'm at the hospital, I really shouldn't talk right now. You're—you're _where_? Why?" He stands up and turns his back to me. "Dan, I can't just leave…I…Alright. I'm coming. Give me twenty minutes." He hangs up the phone and turns back around again.

Only to come face-to-face with none other than Dr. Cox.

"NEWBIE! NO CELL PHONE CALLS WHILE YOU'RE ON THE JOB!" he yells, steam nearly coming out of his ears. J.D. takes a step back. "You _infuriate _me! I don't CARE about you and your little friends hooking up at some god forsaken nail salon, okay? Call your buddies on your OWN TIME. Now get back to work."

I want to defend J.D., but I don't really understand what has happened. It looks bad. He was sort of pale before…he's even paler now. And Dr. Cox shrieking in his face sure isn't helping much, either. For the first time he isn't just standing there when he's getting yelled at. He's staring at the floor.

"Dr. Cox, I—"

"Nope. Lalala, can't hear you."

"But—"

Dr. Cox's eyes narrow. "You do realize, newbie, that I'm near three seconds away from grabbing your scrawny neck and strangling you?"

I wince. J.D. mutters something incoherent under his breath.

"What the _hell _did you just say?"

"I said I have to go."

"Go?" Dr. Cox repeats. "You're just gonna leave in the middle of your shift?" The anger in his voice rises. "Gee, newbie, just when I was beginning to think you were dependable, too. That's a real shame."

"I'm sorry. It's an emergency."

"What kind of 'emergency,' Sue?"

"I…I don't know."

Dr. Cox rolls his eyes. "Quit with the excuses. If you want to leave, then fine. Barbie will do all this paperwork alone and become a successful doctor while you rot drinking beer at the bar."

I frown. He's one to talk. "I'm not Barbie," I remind him, "I'm—"

"About to be in as much trouble as he is, if you don't shut your trap," Dr. Cox snaps.

J.D. shuffles out of the room. I hear the door close and figure he must be out in the waiting room by now. I feel bad for him. He's been a little off all day, and now something's got him flustered.

Dr. Cox shakes his head. "Didn't think he'd actually leave," he says.

"He looked upset," I say to him coldly. "I'm pretty sure it was his brother calling."

Dr .Cox scoffs. "So he drops everything as soon asbig brothercalls. Typical." He hesitates, as if he might add something, but in the end he doesn't. "Not my problem."

* * *

So, basically I'm about to die. I ran for an hour this morning, worked as a salesclerk for six (and yet I'm 14...isn't there some sort of LAW against me working the register? Hmmmm...), then VOLUNTARILY (definition of "voluntary" is NOT GETTING PAID) served dinner at my chorus' six-course meal that funds us or something for four hours. THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I'VE SAT DOWN ALL DAY.

God BLESS chairs. Especially the spinny ones.

REVIEW! It makes me HAPPYYYY!


	3. Chapter Three

THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWWWWWSSS! I'm so HAPPYYYYYY!

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs...but I'm watching you.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

My heart pounds in my ears. Dan called. He's right outside of the coffee shop three blocks away. But _why_? What does he want after all these years? I hadn't seen him since…high school graduation. Then I went off to college in another state and he completely cut off ties with me. Dad died two years later and he didn't even come to the funeral.

Dan was different. He never went to college. I'm not exactly sure what he _does _for a living, but he was certainly mad when I told him I wanted to be a doctor. I'm glad he cut off ties when he did. Dan only reminded me that I could never quite measure up. He was always popular, good at sports, the better-looking, smooth-talking one that attracted all the chicks in high school. Our father doted over him, always asking me, "Why can't you be like Dan?" or "Why don't you try out for football?"

I ended up on the swim team and on crew as a coxen. Those were "sissy" sports.

Basically, Dan was a constant reminder of everything I could never be. Which is why I'm wondering if this is some sort of joke. Does he want money? Does he know I just graduated medical school?

Another thought hits me. How the hell did he know where to find me?

My head is swimming. Totally distracted, I manage to trip and fall flat on my face. I wince as I make contact with the floor. What did I trip on _now_? Why am I such a klutz?

"Scooter," the janitor hisses.

I sigh. "I can't deal with this right now. I'm sorry I tripped on your screwdriver."

"Geez, what's your problem?" he demands. "All I'm trying to do is fix the air conditioning so you precious doctors don't melt. I'm only trying to be a good janitor here and do my job. Yet you keep harassing me! What do I have to do to get an inkling of respect around here?"

"Look, _buddy_," I begin, but then I stop myself. Anything I say now will only be held against me later. I shake my head—but immediately regret it as it sears with pain again. I wince. "Have a nice day," I finally mutter, turning my back and leaving.

"Have a nice day? Have a nice _day_, after your constant abuse? I can't believe—"

The door shuts behind me and I'm finally out in the open. Too bad my car is all the way at the other end of the parking lot. Why did I do that again? Oh yeah, it's closer to the vending machines. Duh.

My muscles feel leaden. After what seems like hours in the stifling heat, I manage to drag myself to my car. Light-headed but still aware enough, I manage to produce my keys from my pocket, job it unceremoniously into the door handle and let myself inside. I shut the door.

But I can't quite remember what happened after that.

* * *

Carla's POV

"Where's Bambi? I thought we were all going out to dinner tonight," I say, frowning. Elliot, J.D., Turk and I had all agreed to check out the new restaurant down the street. Yet we're all standing outside the front entrance and there's no J.D.

"He left early," Elliot explains, biting her lip. "I think there was something wrong. His brother called him, and then he just got up and he was gone. Right in front of Dr. Cox, too."

Turk makes a funny noise. "His brother?"

"Yeah. Isn't Dan his brother? I thought he said that once."

"Dan's his brother alright," Turk confirms. "But I never thought J.D. would ever hear from him again. Apparently they stopped talking to each other after J.D. left for college. I think Dan was bitter or something…J.D. was always pretty hung up about it, even if he pretended not to care. But it's been eight years. A lot has happened since then. Maybe…" Turk shrugs. "Maybe Dan's changed."

"Poor little guy," I sympathize, shuddering. "I bet Dr. Cox wasn't too happy."

"He only screamed his lungs out," Elliot says sarcastically. "And J.D.'s been a bit off all day."

"Whaddaya mean?" asks Turk. "He's perfectly normal. Women," he says accusatorily, "are way too jumpy. If somebody _sneezes_, you freaks smother him. Of course J.D. would seem 'off.' I'm surprised you guys haven't categorized the both of us as clinically insane by now." Turk sighs. "I'm sure he's fine. We'll see him later tonight at the apartment anyway. Let's go, okay? I'm hungry."

I hesitate. "Let's just call him."

Elliot shakes her head. "Let's leave him alone for awhile. He could still be with Dan."

I reluctantly nod my head in agreement. Yet it still gnaws at me. Something's not right here. Something doesn't quite add up.

"Well, I'll take my car. Want a ride, Elliot?" I offer, knowing she took the bus this morning. "It's at the far end of the parking lot."

"Really? Thanks," she exclaims. "That's a lot better than waiting!"

"Don't be silly. Call me whenever you need a ride." Instantly I regret saying that. I'm going to be chauffeuring that girl around forever now…oh, great.

_Ancient looking Carla opens door for ancient looking Elliot. The two of them kick up their slipper-clad feet on the front part of the car and casually throw their dentures at "hot-looking" old guys through the window..._

"Thanks, Carla, but I'm sure my car will be fixed soon."

I sigh in relief. "Well, that's good."

"But carpooling _would _save gas money and be good for the economy…"

"Er, here's the car!" I announce, clicking the button attached to my keys to automatically open the car doors. "You can get in the passenger side. Just stick those papers on the floor, they've been there for ages."

"Sure. Is this a picture of you and Turk? OH…uh…I'll just stick that in the _back_…"

I wince. Shouldn't have put that in the car.

"Ugh, could this jerk park _any _closer to me?" I complain. "I mean, it's like two inches. How am I supposed to open the door? I feel like leaving a note on his windshield."

"Go for it. Use the picture," Elliot suggests with a small snicker.

"Hey, who's the one getting a ride here?" I tease her.

"Er, me. But here's a pen. Found it in your cup holder with what appears to be half-finished coffee."

"Thanks," I say, taking the pen. I bit the end of it, thinking. "Hmmm…what to write, what to write?"

"Back off loser or I'll come find you?" Elliot suggests.

"Eh, never mind, we don't even know whose car this is. It could be Dr. Kelso's for all we know. Too risky." I squint on the inside of the neighboring car. It's pretty clean. A few coffee cups are lying around, but it's not nearly as bad as mine. Wait—is that a person?

"Wait a second," I say to Elliot. "I think…there's someone in there." I walk around to the driver's side of the car and tap on the glass. My heart seems to skip a beat when I get a clear view. "It's J.D.!" I gasp.

"You're kidding," Elliot says flatly. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I think it's him. He's asleep on the steering wheel. Didn't he leave early in the afternoon? Isn't that what you said?" I ask her, tapping on the window harder. "I think there's something wrong with him!"

"Don't worry, he's a really heavy sleeper," Elliot explains, but she still sounds doubtful. She runs over and stands behind me. "Once, Turk and I—"

I pull open the unlocked door. "J.D., wake up," I prod him, shaking him in the shoulder.

"Huh?" His hand flies to his head. "What--? Where the _hell_…"

"Bambi, you were asleep," I tell him, concerned. "Are you okay? How long have you been out here?"

"Damn it—what time is it?"

"Around seven," says Elliot, checking her watch. "You left six hours ago. You've been out here all this time? J.D.—"

"I've gotta go!" he cries. "Dan called—he's waiting for me. I can't believe this."

"J.D., stop. You can't just go drive off. You're sick."

He scoffs. "I am _not _sick. You're crazy, Carla. Now if you don't mind—"

"_I'm _crazy? Gee, thanks, J.D. I've only been a nurse for ten years. I know a sick person when I see them. Take a look in the mirror. You can hardly stay awake and you're freezing in a sweltering hot hospital." I stuck my hand on his forehead. "J.D….you're seriously burning up."

"I can't deal with this right now," he says, jerking his head away from me. "I need to go. Please just _move_."

"We're not moving," Elliot asserts.

"_Please_," he adds desperately. "Any other time you guys can play doctor if you want to, but I have to leave. Seriously."

He's begging. I can't believe he's _begging_. It's not "please-give-me-your-cupcake" kind of beg, it's real.

"Fine," I give in.

"Thank you," he says graciously.

"Carla, are you nuts? We can't just—"

"Sure we can. You heard the doctor, he doesn't need us. Besides, Turk is waiting. Get in the car, Elliot. And J.D., quit parking your car so close to people," I say angrily. I hate it when doctors act all high-and-mighty. They think they know what's best for everybody, but sometimes they get too cocky. I've seen it happen before.

_I really hope nothing happens to that newbie_, I think as he drives away.

* * *

"He's not coming. He obviously knows."

"He has no idea, I swear it. I haven't talked to the kid in years." A pause. "I guess he's not a kid anymore. But still, there's no way he'd have anticipated this."

"You said he'd come. You _swore_."

"Well, he works at a damn hospital, what do you expect? He's probably going to save some pregnant woman or something."

"This isn't a laughing matter. We need him."

"I still don't understand why we have to involve him…"

"Because it still is dormant—but has probably manifested. It was twenty-five years ago, long enough. Now we can use him."

"Why wasn't _I _injected?"

"Your parents didn't sell _your _soul. They sold your brother's. Shut up and be thankful that it's not you that's going to cause…well, you'll see what it can do."

"Are you going to hurt him?"

"I wouldn't know."

A sigh. "Let's just pay the bill and leave."

"Right. Call him in the morning. Don't sound suspicious, though. Just tell him you miss him and give him all the sentimental crap."

Another pause. "Sure."

* * *

Turk's POV 

"You two are laaaaate," I accuse, yawning. "I've been sitting here all by my lonesome for a half an hour. Did you two go shopping or something?" I look around the restaurant. "By the way, this place rocks. I've already sampled about half of the dishes through my nose. I recommend the hamburgers."

"We were late because we found J.D. asleep in the front seat of his car," says Elliot. "Don't make that face, I'm serious. We _told _you there was something wrong with him."

"There's nothing wrong with him," I protest, defending my friend. "He's probably just tired. The good lord only knows how late he was up watching T.V. for the past couple of nights. Don't worry about it."

"He was practically passed out at the steering wheel," Carla tells me, sitting down next to me in the booth. "But he said the same thing you did. Said there was nothing wrong with him and said to leave him alone. So we did." She bites her lip.

"He's _fine_," I assure her. "He's probably just going to head to the apartment and go to bed now."

"I don't think he is," says Elliot quietly, slipping into the booth facing across from us. "But you know J.D. He'll be okay in the morning, I guess."

"You know what? Let's just take out some food to go," I offer. Those two—I swear they're making me paranoid. "We'll go have it over at our place and you'll see there's nothing wrong with him. Okay?"

"Okay," Elliot agrees immediately, getting out of the booth fast as lightning. "I'll order. Burger for you, pizza for me and J.D., and Carla…"

"Salad," she says vaguely. "Some type. Don't care."

Elliot nods and walks up to the front.

"You really think it's serious?" I ask Carla.

"Yeah, I really do."

* * *

:D :D :D Teehee.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I own Zach Braff...errrr...his picture...(SIGHS)

* * *

J.D.'s POV

"_I've missed you. I just wanted to see you. God, how could you do this to me? I can't believe you. I thought you were my brother." _

"_Dan—wait—I'm sorry," I splutter. He's turned his back on me. I have no idea where we are or what we're doing, but he's angry. Again. "I couldn't—"_

"_Because you're jealous?" Dan snarls. "You were always so jealous of me. The fact of the matter is, _John_, I'll always be better than you. So quit being so bitter and try to be human." _

"_But…but you were the one that…" _

"_Oh, so now you're going to blame me?" _

"_You left _me_!" I finally manage to force out. "You were the one who wanted nothing to do with me! I was just your stupid little brother, all through high school." _

"_I can't believe you left me when I called you. When I needed you." _

"_It's been ten years. I tried to come, I really did…"I can't remember why I didn't come, though. Why was I such an ass? How could I have left him there? I wrack my brain. The hospital…that's right, I was a doctor now, wasn't I? _

"_Just go to hell, J.D. I don't want anything to do with you anymore. Not now, not ever." _

"_No, wait…" I call out to him. "Wait!" _

_There's a sharp pain in the back of my head. "Wait…" _

"Wait!"

I wake up with a start. The wind is rattling outside and the windows are wide open. "Shit," I curse, struggling to get up and close them. Summer. The ideal time for those lovely thunderstorms.

Once I finish closing them, I try to recollect myself. I'm in the apartment. Okay. How the hell did I get here? I wrack my brain. Oh, crap. I'm supposed to be on call tonight. What am I doing here?

My stomach sinks. I was supposed to go to the coffee shop and meet Dan. But it's not like he'd be there anyway. I'd fallen asleep in the car.

_I'd fallen asleep in the car. _That was very un-J.D. like. The dream slowly reforms back into my mind. I really was a bastard for leaving him there. The guy doesn't call for ten years and I fell asleep in the freaking front seat of the car on him. How could I let that happen? Will he forgive me?

I scoff. What do I care? He's been gone for eight years. That's almost a third of my whole life—and a third of it is already spent sleeping, apparently. Well, as a doctor about a fifth or sixth of it is spent sleeping, but whatever, same difference. He had been gone for a long time.

I gage my surroundings. Standing up, I can see that I'd fallen asleep again…right by the windows. How very odd. Then they must have slammed open and woken me up.

The clock reads seven thirty. I must have only been out for fifteen minutes or so.

I scratch my head. Why did I keep doing this? It was getting annoying. "Alright," I tell myself definitively. "No more of that. I've slept enough today."

As if reading my mind, my pager goes off.

"Karen, get your sorry ass over here," I read aloud, squinting at it. "Gee, wonder who that's from."

Well, better now than earlier. I must have not slept enough last night. I feel great now, though. Just a little sluggish, but hell, I just woke up. I have no excuse to keep slacking off like this. The hospital needs me.

I grab my jacket and quickly write a note to Turk explaining my absence.

* * *

Dr. Cox's POV

Here he comes. I put on my best evil-death-glare and stare him down.

"So, newbie," I say with as much hostility as I can manage, "what in the _world _managed to make you up and leave my hospital without two seconds notice? You want shorter shifts, Sheila? I'm sorry we can't accommodate you, then. What was your 'emergency'?" I demand.

He opens his mouth, but then closes it.

"We've got all night," I prompt him, leaning back on the wall casually. "Anytime you want to justify yourself. Go ahead."

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "What did you need me for?"

"Well, you walked out on us earlier today so I decided it'd be best if you worked the night shift instead."

He nods. "Alright."

"Seriously, though, what happened? Gotta keep up on the latest gossip. Like I said, teenage girls amuse me."

"I said I was sorry, alright?" he snaps at me. "What else do you want?"

"Geez. Sorry. Coffee would be nice."

He rolls his eyes. "I…I'm gonna go take care of some of the patients in ICU, then."

He starts to leave. I'm about to let him go, but some little voice in my head utters a very strange, unwanted warning. Oh, crap. I'm having one of those moments when I give a damn about the interns. Well, the newbie _did _look pretty upset. What am I supposed to do, let him cry on my shoulder? Ah. Idea.

"No you don't, buddy," I stop him, "you're coming with me. You're officially my personal assistant for the rest of the night."

"Uh…."

"That coffee, if you please. Sugar, no cream."

"Right. Sure."

And thus begins the twelve hours of hell. Why did I do that again? I wonder to myself. Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

Coffee, coffee, coffee. Now I know the secret essential to human life. Screw medical school. Coffee keeps people alive. I was sent for about ten cups of it. I only ended up drinking three myself, but wow, it makes a difference.

"Ah, Jill, you're back," says Dr. Cox, taking the next coffee out of my hand. "Check on the patient in room six, would you? I want her reports. And if they're bad, I'll hurt you, got it?"

Crystal. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Hurry up, then."

Ten minutes to go. Nine minutes and fifty seven seconds to go.

My pager rings again. I turn around. Dr. Cox is standing right there still, talking to a nurse. How is he paging me?

Oh. It's my cell. Crap.

I can feel Dr. Cox's eyes burning the back of my head. He's watching, waiting to see whether I'll pick it up or not. My fingers itch to snap open the phone.

I let it go and walk on to the patient in room six. It can wait. I've sure as hell waited long enough.

* * *

"He's not picking up?"

"It's seven in the morning. What the hell did you expect?"

"Call him again. Maybe he'll pick up this time."

"Let's wait a few minutes."

"We've been waiting all night!"

"All in good time. You said we have about a week before it goes off, right? That's seven whole days."

"I was estimating! We need his blood."

"Um…"

"Oh, shut your whining, you don't give a damn. We're paying you. So keep quiet."

"Right."

* * *

J.D.'s POV

"Alright, then, Sandra, shift's over." Dr. Cox lets out a prolonged yawn. "You can leave now."

"Thanks. See you later."

"Bright and early tomorrow morning. Without the cell phone," he says with an edge in his voice. "Don't think I can't hear it every time that blasted thing goes off. I'm not deaf, you know."

"Er, patient—listening—" I say, motioning to a woman sitting in the waiting room.

"Oh, her? She is deaf. Now get out of my sight and sleep or play dollies or whatever you interns end up doing."

I don't even respond. In a flash I've run out of the hospital, but it's still just as cold out there as it was inside. I gotta start remembering the long sleeves. It's particularly cold for a summer day.

I'm about to check the missed calls when the phone rings. Perfect. I already know who it is.

"Hello?"

"Hey, J.D….what happened last night? Did you go to the right place?"

"Um, no. I was…busy last night. Long story." I laugh nervously. "I'm really sorry I missed you."

"It's all good, but I need you right away, okay?"

"Wait. Just out of curiosity, why do _you _need _me_?" I inquire. "I mean…it's a little weird, you know?"

He sighs. "I know, J.D. It's been a couple of years."

"Actually, it's been eight years. And three months," I correct him. "How did you even find me?"

"It's not important, I just really need to see you."

"Did something happen to Mom?" This didn't even occur to me until just now. But I thought I was the one they'd call first if something happened to her. Heck, I was talking to her last week and I visited her last month. She only lives three hours away.

"No, no—nothing like that."

"Then _what_?"

"Do I really need a reason to see my little brother again?"

I sigh. "Dan, maybe you've changed, but the last I remember of you…" I trail off. "You were…" Suddenly I'm attacked by a coughing fit. I have to put the phone at my side for a moment and use my hand to support myself on the walls of the hospital. After a good fifteen seconds I finally manage to cough it out, gasping for air.

"J.D.? J.D., are you alright? J.D.! "

"I'm fine, just had to cough. Are _you_ alright? You're freaking out. I'm just coughing."

"Sorry. Sorry," he apologizes. "And I know. I was an asshole. But it's different now. I want to be your friend again."

"It's that urgent, then?"

"It's really urgent. It's beyond urgent. Please, J.D."

Ah, hell. He'd said please. "Alright," I give in, finally managing to fully regain my breath. "Where?"

"The coffee shop."

"Coffee?" I swear, I start salivating on the spot. "I could definitely go for some coffee right now."

"Good. Meet you there."

"Okay. Bye." I hang up and stand there on the sidewalk of the front entrance for a second, letting the thoughts settle in. I end up coughing again. Great. Just peachy. Throw in a little lightheadedness and I've got myself in the best of moods.

_Evil maniacal demonish thing has a giant blender. Holds up signs that read "coughing," "lightheadedness" and "extreme fatigue" and dumps them in unceremoniously; cackles evil as the blender turns on and concocts and evil, bloody smoothie from hell…_

I shake my head. "Focus," I tell myself, snapping the cell closed. "Focus."

The front door opens. "I thought I told you to leave, newbie. Leave, as in get the hell out of the hospital and pretend you have a life. Do you not get it? Or are you really that in love with the patients?"

"Sorry," I say for the umpteenth time that day. I really want to leave, but my legs can't seem to move. Move, you useless limbs! I command them. MOVE. MOVE. MOVE.

"Quit with the 'sorry' business. What's gotten into you lately? You're not as much fun to squash and pester these days."

MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE.

They're not moving. Crap. That means I have to answer. "Um, sorry." I slap my head. "I mean, um, not sorry, then. I just—well—uh…"

"See, that's more I like it. Adds the element of fear. All is well, then?"

"All is handy-dandy," I say, giving him my cheesiest grin. Ahh, there goes my legs. Good thing I parked closer today. Chances are I'll be able to drive and stay awake at the same time.

"Might want to do something about that little coughing thing," says Dr. Cox.

I freeze. He heard that? I turn around to explain myself or at least diminish the whole idea of it, but he's already in his car.

Good. One less thing to deal with. I get in the car and drive away.

* * *

You know, I have, like, the next three chappies just waiting to load. But I think I'll hold off for another day or so. Teehee.

THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! I LOVE YOU ALLLLLL!


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: You know, I figure after I rule the world it'll be pretty simple to take over Scrubs, so no worries. For now.

* * *

Elliot's POV 

"I can't believe he went back to the hospital!" I cry, reading the note again for the millionth time. Last night I sort of slept, but most of the time I was thinking about J.D. It's pretty lame. I mean, we're not even together anymore. That's completely over.

But I do care about him, and he was pretty out of sorts. Plus his brother—did he ever get out to see Dan?

"This sounds just like Perry," accuses Carla. "I have half a mind to march down there and kill him."

"Half the night I was contemplating just that," I agree. I check the clock. "It's eight. His shift will be over soon, right? I mean, they can't keep him there forever, can they?"

"We were up half the night, too," Turk mentions suggestively, his eyebrows up.

Carla slaps him playfully. "I was thinking about J.D. too, though. I mean, not during…well, afterwards. It's really not fair. I'm gonna give Perry a good beating when I get back there tonight."

"I'm worried," I sigh, taking a swig of coffee. "But I have to meet a friend for brunch. I promised."

"Who?" asks Turk. "What friend?"

"I _do _have friends outside of Sacred Heart, you know," I say defensively. "I'm not…okay, okay. I'm meeting my mom. Whatever. At least I don't text message mine all the time."

Turk's eyes widen. "I thought I told you to keep quiet about that!" he whispers loudly.

"Awww, you text message you mommy?" Carla coos. "I think that's adorable. Well, Lavern and I planned to go to the mall anyway…I'm sure Bambi will be okay. Perry can't afford to lose him. He wouldn't let anything happen to J.D." She hesitates, then adds, "I don't think."

"Well, see you all later," I say, grabbing my coat. "My shift starts at two. How about you guys?"

"Eight o'clock," Carla says. "Turk's at three, he just doesn't know it because I'm his secretary now. What would you do without me, baby?" she asks him.

"Err…get fired?"

"Exactly!" she chirps, kissing him on the cheek. "Love you. Bye."

The door closes behind us. Time for some brunch.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

"J.D., over here."

There he is. I mean, I guess that's Dan. His hair is shorter and darker, his face older and more worn. Instantly I feel small and stupid again. I feel like the nerd that my father didn't want. The awkward, friendless years of my teens come wandering back.

I push it aside and smile at him.

"Dan," I greet him, holding back the emotions. A part of me wants to hug him, but most of me wants to just turn around, walk away and forget he was ever here. I never thought I'd have to deal with him again. "It's so nice to see you again."

"You too, bro."

He never called me "bro" before. Hmm.

"Here, I got us a table," he says, pointing to the front end of the shop. "Two coffees on the way."

"Oh, thanks…that's nice of you." We sit down. "So, what brings you around here?" I ask.

"Just wanted to catch up. I realized that I didn't want to go my whole life without making amends with my little brother."

_Little brother. _Inside I wince.

"Whatever happened between us? Last time I saw you, leg warmers were still in style."

I force a laugh. He damn well knows what happened between us. Obviously he came to me to relieve his conscience; he wants me to come up with some lie about how it was _my _fault and he wasn't to blame. He wants me to clear his conscience.

I sent him plenty of letters from college. I gave up in medical school. It didn't matter after awhile; Turk was more my brother than Dan would ever be.

"I don't know," I say simply, and leave it at that. He knows what happened. I know what happened. It's not going to change if I feed him some lie.

"How's being a doctor?"

"Huh?" That catches me by surprise. I don't know why, considering that "being a doctor" is basically my whole life now.

"Oh, it's great. I've got friends there. And enemies, but hey, whatever keeps the place lively is good for me. It's fun, it's just the night shifts that suck. Dr. Cox made me come in all last night so I'm a little thrown off."

"Yeah, you're shaking," Dan observes. "You sure you're alright?"

"Me? Never better."

"Hey, what do you say we just ditch this joint? We can go get breakfast somewhere instead of just coffee. I gotta show you my new car, too. It's a Hummer."

"How did you get a Hummer?" I ask, my eyes practically bulging out of my head. "What have you been up to, anyway? I mean, since…high school and the auto shop."

"Got a good job with the, er, government."

He's hiding something. He won't tell, though. Dan never wanted to tell me anything, unless it was "borrowing" money or humiliating me.

_Let go! It's been years! It's different. Quit being a wimp, _I think to myself.

"Wow. A Hummer. That's pretty crazy."

"Yeah, it's awesome! C'mon, I'll show you all the gear."

"Okay," I agree, actually feeling eager to see the inside of a Hummer. What? Even the greatest anti-gasoline environmental-protectors would probably pay money to look inside of one. They're like aliens. Only industrial-sized.

"Go on, open it."

It's unlocked. I pull the handle and step inside. The last thing I remember is a really sharp pain in the back of my head; but not the headache sort of pain. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream. It's so sudden you don't even see it coming.

I saw eyes. Leering, evil and greedy. And for once, they weren't Dan's.

_It's a good thing those damn Hummer seats are padded_, I think as I fall into darkness.

* * *

"What the hell did you do to him?" I demand incredulously.

"Knocked him out, idiot. Now get in the freaking car."

"You said—"

"I didn't make any promises. Now _get in the car._"

I grit my teeth, but I know they have to obey. They're paying me a lot…to sell out my brother's soul. Just like my parents did. I wonder if he'll ever know.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to my brother. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for being better, but as I sit there watching his pale, lifeless frame I also don't think I'll ever forgive myself, either. In truth, I don't really know what's worse.

My partner punches the numbers on his cell phone. "We got him," he reports. "Unconscious. I knocked him out—he should be out for long enough to finish the procedure."

"And then we'll give him the vaccine?" I remind him as he hangs up.

The man snorts. "There is no vaccine, buddy. That's why we need your brother."

I'm not sure where we're going. Only that suddenly I want to close my eyes and pretend that this never happened. J.D.'s such an idiot. I can't believe he trusted me. I can't believe I _let _him trust me.

* * *

Elliot's POV

"Barbie, quit spacing out," Dr. Cox yaps, getting right in my face.

"Oh—uh—" I greet him. But then I remember I'm angry with him and turn away. "Something you need?"

"Um, yeah. I need you to do your job. You know. J-O-B. Job. As a D-O-C-T-O-R. I know it's shocking, but you ARE standing in the middle of a hospital. Go _figure_."

"Dr. Cox—"

"Sorry, I'm not here right now, please leave a message after the beep. BEEEEEP."

I shut my mouth. It's not my battle, anyway. Carla will tear him down. In the end he always ends up listening to her.

The hours melt by. That's what seems to happen here. It's not like I'm having some grand party at the hospital that makes the time go by so fast—it's just that I get so engaged sometimes. Anyway, I only managed to get yelled at by anyone like, three times today. Better than yesterday. After J.D. walked out Dr. Cox was pretty angry. Somewhere in that black hole of a heart I think he sort of cares about the rest of us.

"Barbie, what the hell did you inject that kid in room three with? Whatever it is, he's driving me INSANE."

"But I didn't—"

"Don't want to hear it. I'm blaming you, got it? It's easier that way. So get outta my sight and go screw up elsewhere."

"Yes, sir."

Heh. A heart? Just kidding. I turn around to check on the kid when I see Carla coming into the room.

Well, I _hear _her more than see. She's pretty angry.

"Perry!" she shouts, her voice piercing the calm of the room. Everyone's head swivels around. Fully aware, Carla turns back to the onlookers and snaps, "Mind your own business, okay?"

The janitor is the only one who stays listening, perched on his mop casually and staring right at the pair of them. I wonder what the hell his problem is.

"Well, nice to see you too, Carla," he says with one of his signature forced smiles. "And what can I do for you today besides give you a volume control button?"

Carla lowers her voice, but it does nothing to diminish the venom. I smile to myself. "I can't believe you called that poor kid in," Carla hisses.

"Poor kid? What poor kid?"

"Don't act like an idiot, Perry, you knew Bambi was having a rough time."

"Hey, what happens to the interns is _not _my problem. Just because he's gonna go hang with his long lost brother doesn't mean—"

I freeze. "Wait, how did you know that?"

"Geezus, Barbie, did it look like I was talking to you? Go check on that kid in room three!"

"How _did _you know that?" Carla raises the question again.

"I heard him talking on his phone while I waited for my shift to finally be over so I could leave this god forsaken place for a full five hours. Is that such a problem? Look, he has a _job _now. He's not two years old anymore, okay? He's not my problem."

"You know full well," Carla says menacingly, "that that kid is probably got the best damn potential than anyone in this place. You _know_. And I know you care. You're just too…too…" She throws her hands up in the air in disgust. "Honest to god, Perry, there's something wrong with J.D. Not just his brother. He's been off for the last few days—don't pretend you haven't noticed…"

"Carla, could you just _please _do your job? You're a nurse, not a babysitter. I'm a doctor, not a shrink. Now get the hell outta my way and quit bothering me. You're like a fruit fly. I can't seem to swat you."

"Fine. But when something happens to that kid, you're gonna regret it more than anyone else here."

I watch Dr. Cox's face turn pale. In fact, I can feel my own blood run cold. Something in Carla's voice made that last statement repeat itself like a broken record in my head. It was as if she were condemning him to some awful fate.

I shook my head. What was I thinking? I was an intern, not a fortune teller—just like Carla wasn't a babysitter and Dr. Cox wasn't a shrink. Maybe Dr. Cox and Turk were right. Maybe we are blowing this all out of proportion.

Carla stalks off, leaving a petrified Dr. Cox in her wake. Immediately normal activity ensues, but he's still standing there. Finally I walk up to him.

"I haven't seen J.D. since last night," I tell him. "We found him asleep at the front wheel of his car around seven."

"Barbie," he says in an uneven tone, his voice gradually growing until it ended in a full scale yell, "get the _hell _outta here and for _god's _sake, do your freaking job!"

* * *

(hides from imaginary Dr. Cox) lol. Speaking of screaming fests, my swim coach practically blew out the WINDOWS today yelling at us that we "talk too much" and "have no respect" for him. Gee, maybe because he--in the eight months he's coached us--STILL has no idea what the hell our names are, doesn't give a damn about ANY of us, and pretty much twiddles with his fingers all through practice after giving us a set. Yeah, I have lotsa respect for my swim coach. At least I do him the favor of being quiet. Plus I always say "thank you" after practice because my mom said it's polite to do that. He frightens me. But what scares me more is the fact that he was FOUR KIDS. One--who'd MARRY him? and Two--HIS POOR CHILDREN! OMG! I WANNA HUG THEM ALL!

THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! I'm bouncing off the walls, I'm so excited people are reading!


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I wonder how many elevator buttons I can push before the machine malfunctions and dies...hmmmmm...oh, I don't own Scrubs. Or the elevator. MWAHAHAHAHA.

* * *

"That thing is beeping! Godammit, make it stop, I can hardly drive."

"It's a pager…Who's Carey? Hmm. It says something about needing him at the hospital."

A laugh. "Well, obviously that's not going to happen."

"Well, what should I do?"

"Just let it go."

"They might get suspicious."

"They'll just think the kid left it somewhere or something. After all, he's just an intern, isn't he? Leave it be."

"J.D.'s not like that, they'll know he's in trouble."

"Earth to idiot! They have no idea we're even here! They're not going to suspect that two men knocked him out and stuffed him in their car unless they're at a level of paranoia that _seriously _needs medical help."

"I'm just gonna page this guy back. You never know."

"Don't. Give me the damn thing."

"What if he loses his job?"

"What the hell do you care? Now give me the pager so I can stop it's incessant beeping!"

"There. I turned it off. Happy?"

A grunt. "This had better work, that's all I gotta say. This may be more trouble than it's worth. You're sure it hasn't started yet, right?"

"What?"

"The disease. You're sure it hasn't kicked in."

"How can _I _be sure? He seemed fine."

"Good."

"What exactly are we using him for?"

"The vaccine. I told you."

"But it's not even a real disease…you all made it up, right? Didn't _you _make it? Why do you need a vaccine for it if it's not hurting anyone but J.D.? Why'd you even inject it in the first place?"

"You're such a moron. You don't even realize what we can do with this. Force entire countries down to their knees, begging us for the cure so they can survive. Once we extract some of the mutated DNA from your brother, we can hopefully convert it into a liquid gas that we can spray. One whiff and you're out like a light."

"Why would we need to do that?"

"Like I said. You're such a moron."

"He's moving."

"So knock him out again."

"I can't just knock him out. Why does he have to be unconscious, anyway?"

"Oh, so you're having second thoughts? Sorry, buddy, it's too late for that. You made a deal, you signed the papers, now get the bat and squash his skull in for all I care."

* * *

J.D.'s POV

_It's beeping. It's my pager. They need me over at Sacred Heart and I can't even answer the damn thing to explain myself! _

_Dr. Cox is gonna kill me…Ugh, my head. What happened to my head? I can't even move. I'm lying face down on the seat of someone's car. I know we're moving. People are talking. I can recognize the voice, but whose is it? _

_Dan. I can't believe he did this to me. _

_Wait. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I just totally passed out again and they're driving me home. _

_Okay, that was a stupid idea. I know they aren't good people. I get it now. Every suspicion I had about Dan and even those I didn't dare to have are all completely true. _

_God, my head is throbbing. I don't think it's ever felt this way before. I can hardly even think, except somewhere I vaguely take note that the pager has stopped. I've let them down. They need me and I'm letting them down. I'm not gonna get away with this one. _

_I feel its shadow over me before my head splits in two and I fall out of consciousness again._

* * *

Dr. Cox's POV

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath. This is the first time that the newbie's ever ignored a page. Now I know that something must be wrong. It's very rare that I ever feel uneasy about anything; usually decisions just come to me and I accept them. But not this time.

I sigh. He's probably just worried.

Barbie passes by me with her log in her hands.

"What?" I snap at her.

She looks up, startled, and nearly skids on the floor. She's like an oblivious, yipping puppy sometimes. One of these days I'm sure she'll get it.

"I'm sorry?"

"You just seem to be following me everywhere! Is it just me or do I have to climb all the way to the freaking roof to shake you off?" I ask her angrily. Okay. I'm just stressed and I'm taking it out on an intern. But hell, it's a habit that's pretty hard to break.

"We work on the same floor," she says, giving me a face. "I'm on break, anyway. Excuse me."

"Yeah, excuse you," I call after her. I can feel the hand that's still clutching the pager start to shake. It's only because I've been working so much in the past three days. I don't really care about one missing intern; I've got a million more than I need right here at my disposal.

It goes like that for the rest of the night. A million death glares from Carla and one particularly painful run-in with one of the interns—idiot smacked right into me—my shift is finally over. When I'm finally in my car I take a deep breath, realizing to my delight I have a full ten hours to do whatever the hell I feel like doing.

It's then, starting the engine, that my conscience kicks in.

"Aw, hell." I pick up my pager and page the kid. Might as well just make sure he's still in the city.

_Samantha. I paged you earlier, where the hell are you? _

I sat there for about two minutes, waiting. Finally I just backed out. It didn't matter.

The pager beeps.

_I don't know. _

I frown. This had better be some kind of newbie-slang or I might kill him.

_We needed you over here_, I page him.

_Bit tied up at the moment. _

_Doing what, Annie? _

He doesn't respond. I snort. And to think I was worried about him—he's probably having sex with some prostitute. With a last roll of the eyes, I drive out of the parking lot and head home. Time for a killer nap.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

I've been awake for the past hour, and from what I can tell this is pretty bad. Basically:

A). These people are _so _not the government.

B). They have some maniacal, evil plan to poison half the world with some grave illness that I have nothing to do with.

C). My head hurts like hell.

Oh, and of course,

D). I couldn't type "help my sick older brother kidnapped me" fast enough to page. Actually, I probably could have, but how weird is that? I'm lying on the cold cement of some cell, holding the bloody splotch on my head and praying to whatever is out there listening that nobody suspects I'm awake. I can't believe they _hit _me. As if my head hadn't been hurting enough already. I'm gonna kill Dan if I ever get outta here.

Eek. Footsteps. I close my eyes again and resume the "J.D.-is-in-dream-world" act. I perfected that right around the age of seven, when I started to do chores. I got pretty good at it, too. Too bad my mom was too smart for that.

"He's still out?"

"Yeah. Out like a light, the sucker."

"The brother?"

"He left. His part of the job is over anyway. He just had to lure him in."

The words sting, but I strain my ears to listen anyway. Faking sleep is really the only effective way of gaining information you're not supposed to know. Like that one time Elliot came in ranting about some one night stand while I was "sleeping" on the couch.

"Let's just get the shot now. While he isn't awake. Then we can just dump him somewhere and he'll be out of our minds."

"We can't just 'dump him somewhere' until we know for sure we've gotten a good sample. The kid's gonna have to stay."

"Great, then. But like I said, the shot—"

"Has to wait until he's examined. We have a doctor coming in but he's gonna be an hour or so late."

"Okay, then, let's get some breakfast and come back. I doubt he'll wake up by then. We smacked him up pretty good."

"Sure."

Breakfast. My stomach nearly growls as soon as they utter those words. _Take me with you…_I want to scream. I realize I haven't eaten since…since…

_J.D. stuffs what appears to be a Happy Meal from McDonald's in his mouth while playing with the toy…_

Dinner the night before last night. That's inhumane.

Oh, that and the fact that somehow I was twisted into some terrible plan to destroy the world. That's sort of on my top ten inhumane things list as well.

Wait, sample? They said sample. What do they want a sample of? My blood?

What's so special about _my _blood? I'm not some superhero or something. I'm just the newbie. And I'm not super intelligent, either. So what's going on here? Why did Dan just leave me?

It occurs to me then that I'm in this cell all alone and there's an emergency exit to my left. I blink my eyes a few times just to make sure I'm not completely delirious. I _was _hit in the head pretty hard.

No, it's still there. The only problem is, I can hardly move.

Slowly I inch my way towards the door, half-crawling, half dragging. It's not too far. I can do this. All I have to do is open that door and run for dear life.

Bracing myself, I jerk myself up. Immediately my head rushes and I have to stand there for a moment. I feel like the world is swimming. This is SO NOT THE TIME. Why is it when you need something the most, it totally disappears? Like that one time in high school I lost my goggles at the finals and nobody would let me borrow theirs. Well, they turned out to be on my head…so maybe it's different.

Ack! Snap out of it! No time to space out.

"Here we go," I grunt, shoving the door open. I cringe for a moment, expecting some kind of alarm to go off or a pack of wolves to race by and devour me whole. Nothing comes.

I breathe a sigh of relief and proceed into the open air. I'm in an alley way, but not too far from the road. Suddenly exhausted, I barely manage to stumble outside of the alley and squint my eyes at the street sign. It's about ten miles from my apartment. Not exactly great for walking.

I pull out the pager. _Elliot, it's J.D. Could you pick me up? I'm at the intersection of Treetop and Coral. _

Please respond. Please respond. C'mon…_c'mon…_

_What happened? Where have you been? _

I bite my lip. Explanation for this…hmmm…not exactly ringing like church bells.

_Tell you later. Just please come. _I waited for a minute or so.

_Okay. Be right there. _

I wasn't actually at that intersection; I wasn't that stupid. I was on Coral, but Treetop was a few blocks away. There were benches over there that I could sit on and wait for her.

Question is—how to get there?

* * *

REVIEWWWW lol I love reviewwwwwwwwws.


	7. Chapter Seven

Hey, all. Sorry it took so long. It document manager didn't work! EEEESH.

Disclaimer: I. Own. My. Soul.

...crap. Sold it to Zach Braff. MAN he's hot.

I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Elliot's POV

"J.D. just paged me," I announce, holding up the pager.

"What'd he say?" Carla demands, hovering over my shoulder. "I might kill him."

I glare at her. "Says he's at the intersection at Coral and Treetop. Where _is _that?"

"Like, ten miles away, out by where I get my hair cut," Carla answers with a frown. "Why the hell is he all the way out there? Ask him."

"I am," I say, typing in the words as fast as I can. I hit the send button and waited for a moment or two.

"So?" Carla prompts. "What'd he say? There'd better be a good reason for this. For all we know he's halfway across the world with that brother of his…not to mention that he has a shift this afternoon. It's nine o'clock."

"He says he'll tell us later. I told him I was coming."

"Um, you mean _we_, don't you?" Carla says pointedly.

"You don't have to come," I say defensively. "He paged me."

Carla rolls her eyes. "Car, Elliot. You need a car. For _driving. _Your car's in the _shop_."

"…oh. Er, could I use your—"

"Let's go."

"Are we gonna leave a note for—"

"He'll be fine, he'll be fine. He can always call us. Besides, he and that Todd guy are out doing something." Carla shudders. "I don't want to know, frankly."

We head downstairs and get into her car, driving the awkward ten miles in silence. I toy with the idea of playing the radio, but I'm too tense to think of music. I agree with Carla. I may very well kill J.D. when I get my hands on him. As much as I hate to admit it, I really do care about that weirdo. In more ways than just friendship. But it didn't work out—we both know better now.

Still, I sort of wish…

"Take a left here," Carla instructs.

"Huh?" I snap out of my daze. "Oh, right," I respond, shaking my head. "Sorry."

"Pay attention, Elliot!"

"I know. I know. Sorry."

"I don't see him anywhere," says Carla, peering out the window. "Wait, I think that's him with the newspaper. Since when does J.D. read the paper? Maybe he's decided to wise up for once!"

I park the car right by the bench where the newspaper-covered J.D. sits. Carla rolls down the window. "Hey, Bambi!" she calls. "Get in!"

J.D. shuts the newspaper closed and bolts to the car like a bullet on crack. Immediately he slams the door and looks behind us. "Let's go," he says quickly, inspecting the area around us.

"J.D.!" Carla gasps.

"What?" I ask, looking back at him. Oh my God. There's blood all over the top of his head and on his face. "What HAPPENED?" I demand. "Holy shit, J.D., what did you do?"

"Drive!" he commands, fully panicking.

"Just go," says Carla. She unbuckles her seat belt and gets into the back with him. "How many fingers am I holding up?" I hear her ask him.

My heart's racing. For a moment it had looked like he was dead. Completely pale, bloody and dead.

"Carla, don't…"

"I'm dead serious, J.D.," Carla enforces. "What the hell did you do? Where did you and Dan go?"

"Dan," J.D. says bitterly, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the seat in disgust. "Not right now, I'm tired."

"Don't you dare. You're a doctor, you ought to know that people with head wounds need to stay awake."

"It's not a wound!" J.D. snaps. "It's just a bump!"

"J.D., it's as big as Mt. Everest!" I squeak from the front, barely managing to hold the steering wheel steady. I think that old man in the Porsche just flipped me off. I stick out my tongue.

Ugh. That was mature.

"Just go straight to the hospital," Carla tells me. I nod.

"No!" J.D. gasps. "Are you kidding? You can't do that!"

"Yes we can," I say. "Just you watch."

"No way. You can't. It's just a bump. Besides, I'll have to…"

"Explain yourself? We're waiting, by the way," Carla reminds him.

"I…" J.D. hesitates. "Dan and I…had a disagreement."

"What kind of disagreement?"

J.D.'s hand flies up to his head. "Ack," he exclaims.

"See? You're hurt, you numbskull," says Carla. "You can't deny that. We're taking you to Sacred Heart. You obviously have a concussion—it could be worse, too. You need to get that checked out."

I'm shaking. Somehow I can see this isn't going to end well. Half of me is listening to them argue in the back and the other half of me is trying to get a glimpse of J.D. through the rearview mirror just to make sure he's still alive. Oh, wait. A little part of me is also still driving, but that's a bit insignificant now.

"No, I don't," J.D. protests. "It's personal, Carla. I don't want the entire staff of Sacred Heart seeing me come in because I bumped my head."

"That's not a head bump. What did you get hit with?"

"I don't know!" J.D. says angrily. "I can't even remember. He just smacked me with something and…"

"And you blacked out. Definite concussion."

"Just take me to the apartment. Please."

"Bambi!"

"Please?"

"It's not going to work this time. You're hurt. Seriously."

"Just leave me alone…" J.D.'s voice drifted off and grew airier. "Doesn't matter."

"J.D." Carla shakes him and I see for a fleeting moment his head lolling to the side before I turn my attention back to the road. "J.D., wake up!"

"Is he okay?" I demand.

"He's out cold."

"Oh my God. What do we do!"

"Keep driving, for heaven's sake!" Carla snaps. I know she doesn't mean it; she's probably just as worried as I am. "He's still breathing. I think we'd better try and get there as fast as we can, though. He still has that fever from last night…God, Bambi, what the hell is wrong with you…" she mutters.

"He's not gonna die," I mutter to myself. "He's not gonna die, he's not gonna—"

"Calm down, Elliot. Do you need me to pull over and take the wheel?"

J.D.'s death-like form popped its way into my head again. No way. I'd rather drive over boulders than be stuck in the back facing that. "N-no, it's okay, I got it. We're almost there. Don't worry, we're almost there," I repeat, mostly talking to myself. But Carla takes a deep breath, too—I can tell she's just as freaked as I am. I feel a little less stupid.

"Pull into emergency," Carla instructs, her voice firm and confident. I thank whatever being is out there for my car breaking down. Otherwise I would have been completely petrified.

So much for being a doctor.

"Hey, don't I know you? What's going on?" asks one of the doctors from Emergency as I speed in.

"I—it's—"

Carla shoves the door open. "It's J.D. His head's pretty banged up and he's sick with something. He's been unconscious for about fifteen minutes, but he's still breathing."

The guy's eyes widen. "What happened?"

"Just go!" I blurt, near hysterics. He runs off and retrieves several other doctors and a gurney. I steal a look at J.D. and wish immediately that I hadn't. Tears fill my eyes.

I want to be with him. I want him to know that I really do care, and that I'm not bitter or angry anymore, that it was all in the past. I want him to hold me again.

I stay in the car, hands still squeezing the life out of the steering wheel, until one of the other doctors—Brian, I think—opens the door and motions for me to get out.

"It's alright. I'll move the car for you, Elliot. You go ahead—they might even need your help."

I shake my head. "I can't…"

He pats me on the back. "I know. It's gotta be hard. What the hell did the kid do?"

I burst out sobbing. "I don't know!" I cry, stalking into the hospital to find a bathroom. "I just don't know!"

* * *

Eeepers. Lol. Have fun with that.


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs, but I'm making it my officially duty to Zach Braff to collect every single freaking Chicken Little product I can get my hands on. So far I've got a bobblehead and a Pez container. I have yet to see the movie, though, which is SO frustrating! I've seen all the trailers with Zach Braff's voice, though...he's one sexy chicken...lol okay that never happened, shutting up now.

Anyway, here's chapter eight. I'm going to be gone until Thursday night. I'll try to post on Friday sometime. Hope you guys like it.

Chapter Eight

* * *

Dr. Cox's POV

HOLY CRAP. Heads are gonna roll. Who in the world pages a man only hours after the longest shift in all of eternity? Granted, it was twelve hours, but I'd rather stick my head in a meat grinder than go back to that place right now.

Groaning and muttering several obscenities under my breath, I check the pager.

_Get over here—right now. Carla. _

I frown. "Yeah, right. In your dreams. Lalala, didn't hear you," I sing to myself, lying back on the couch and closing my eyes. Ahhh, sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

"God dammit!" I curse, picking up the pager again.

_Perry, get the hell over here. It's Bambi. _

Bambi? What the hell?

Oh. Bambi was her name for the newbie. What about him? Wasn't he out partying or what not? I still haven't forgiven him for ditching. Or ignoring my paging after he ditched. I hope he's not getting too cocky, thinking he can just brush me off because he's all high and mighty now—that's the worst in a doctor. I may have to reconsider my frequent abuse of him. A slacker by no means deserves it.

_What about him? _I page back.

_Gee, doctor, come see for yourself. _

Okay. She's properly instilled the feeling of dread. I leap off the couch—my shoes are still on anyway, so it doesn't matter—and dash into my car. I don't know why I'm actually caring about this. Maybe because the newbie, despite all the constant berating, is one of the only competent freaks this hospital has and I feel like preserving that.

A minute later I'm at the hospital, seeing as I live a block or so away. I decided a couple of years ago to move closer to cut travel time.

As I walk in the hospital I see Barbie sitting in the waiting room with a tissue box, practically bawling her eyes out.

"What, did you break one of your heels, Barbie?" I inquire lightly. "You know, as much as the hospital is supposed to care about their employees' well-being, you need to get the hell outta this pig pen of patients and start working to get rid of them all. That's your _job._ Remember? We went over this yesterday. It's not so hard. First, you see what's wrong with the patient, and then you do whatever the hell Med School taught you to do and pray to God you haven't murdered them. Are we clear?"

She makes a funny choking noise. "I'm not on duty, Dr. Cox."

I frown. "Then leave."

She shakes her head. I shrug, though for some reason I can't shake off that odd crying fit in my mind. Barbie crying in the middle of the hospital. I ought to care, shouldn't I? Hm. This is why I'm not normal.

I see Carla—the enemy. The evil awakener. This had better be good.

"What in the world _possessed _you to page me in the middle of my nap?" I yap at her. "I mean, as if I weren't enough of a zombie. What are you trying to do, screw up my sleeping schedule even more? Shot after shot of caffeine isn't going to fix that, for your information—"

"Perry," she cuts me off, voice cracking and looking at me straight in the eye with a grim expression. "I told you Bambi was in trouble."

My blood seems to run cold. Is it just me, or is the room in complete paralysis?

"What?" I say stupidly. For once I have no witty, get-the-hell-outta-my-face comeback. I'm completely dry.

"Something happened while he was with that brother of his," Carla explains, motioning for me to follow her. "I don't know what. He didn't say much, but he was extremely paranoid—then he just passed out—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I halt her once we're in the elevator. "Do you have a remote or something? Will ya hit rewind for me? You lost me somewhere around when you took your first breath. Please elaborate."

She takes a deep breath and hits the button. "J.D. went out to go see his brother. You see, after his shift when he left, he actually just completely passed out in his car—"

"I know." She looks at me quizzically. "Barbie told me."

"You _knew_?" she asks incredulously. "And you _still _called him in?"

"Hey, I didn't know until after he'd left. Elliot told me after her shift was over this morning." I bite my tongue and decide not to tell her that I paged him this morning too, and then blew it off when he didn't respond. "So what happened?"

"Well," she says, now even angrier than before, "he's been pretty sick for the past few days, in case you didn't notice. I'm sure you did," she cuts me off before I can say anything in retaliation. "But he left to go see his brother after he got off the second time."

"I know."

"That's right, you told me you'd heard the conversation," Carla remembers. "Right. After J.D. left we didn't hear from him again. We assumed he was just staying with his brother…" She takes another deep breath. "But something obviously happened. Elliot got a page from him this morning asking her to pick him up from ten miles away. When we found him he was completely burning up and had a head wound, a bloody nose and a black eye."

I try my best not to react, but I fear I may have flinched. Who would do that to the newbie? He was so mild-tempered, usually just shrugging off all the crap people gave him. Hell, life was one big joke to him. He was so carefree and creepily giddy all the time. Why would somebody hurt him?

I sigh. The elevator starts to slow down.

"Is he alright?" I manage to ask.

"He blacked out on the way here. He hasn't woken yet and we don't really know what's going to happen to him."

The doors open. It occurs to me randomly that the newbie was the reason Barbie was crying. In fact, the whole hospital seemed a little quiet. Like it was mocking me. I felt like everyone was watching me, accusing me.

But it wasn't my fault. I had nothing to do with it.

"Which room?"

"Three," Carla answers. "Don't know if you'll be allowed in. We have no idea what he has. His fever's already shot up to 104."

"They'll let me in."

Carla shrugs. "Go ahead and try. They wouldn't let in Elliot and after that I backed off."

When I see him it's like some sort of badly directed horror movie. It looked almost fake. Like he was going to jump up from the bed and be like, "Haha! I got you good, losers!" I waited for it to happen for a full minute. Waited for him to lick ketchup off his face with his tongue and pull out the heart monitor.

It didn't happen. In fact, he looked positively lifeless.

"Are you sure…" I wanted to ask, _Are you sure that's J.D.?_, but that wouldn't have made much sense. Obviously it was him. "Are you sure they have no idea what's wrong with him?"

"They're doing the tests now."

I remember when I practically blew the lab to smithereens next to the newbie. It was odd to me that he'd be the one needing it after all this time.

"He's stable, though?"

"As far as we know. But it could get a lot worse with that fever. We medicated him, but it's not going down. It's a pretty bad virus, I'm guessing."

I swallow hard. "Why would someone…?"

Carla sits down and rests her head in her hands, looking just as dumbfounded as I felt. "I just don't know, Perry—I just don't know."

I put my hand on the doorknob to open it and immediately a younger doctor instructs robotically, "Sir, please don't open that, he could be extremely contagious and—"

I give him the all-famous death glare. "Do you realize who I am?" I hiss, letting him stand there in fear.

The doctor's eyes grow wide. "D-Dr. Cox," he stutters. "G-g-go on in, then, so sorry to bother you."

I sometimes rather do enjoy my position of power here at Sacred Heart.

The door slams behind me. I turn around to see someone talking to Carla; she shrugs apologetically, mouths something to me about 'Bambi' again—who nicknames someone after a Disney character?—and walks off.

I sigh, hearing the rhythmic sound of the heart monitor. Up close it's more of a reality than I'm ready to face. This was the kid that I was trying to teach the ropes to, trying to help succeed? As much as I hate to admit it, this past set of interns has actually got me thinking for the first time in my life. I find, eerily enough, that I can connect with the newbie, Turk, Barbie and Carla. It's like we're some sort of misfit group now in the hospital.

Funny how quickly things can change.

"Newbie…" I sigh. "My god, what the hell were you thinking? You're a doctor. Didn't you know better? Who the hell did this to you?"

Obviously there isn't some sort of miraculous response. Just the beeping, now suddenly more annoying to me than it's been in the years and years I've toiled away in this prison. Not even a twitch. He's still as the unforgiving, sticky weather outside is with its lack of wind.

Seeing the life completely sucked out of the most annoying intern I've ever met is pretty shocking. One minute he was being normal, joke-cracking, slightly insane J.D., and the next he's lying in some hospital bed.

"You gotta watch out for some people in the world," I tell his deathly pale form. "Believe it or not, Shirley, not everybody wants to be your friend. Be more careful next time."

Well, there's nothing more I can do. It's in somebody else's hands. I don't even usually work on this floor. I walk out of the room.

* * *

Carla's POV

I brace myself and punch in the numbers to Turk's cell phone.

"Hey, baby," he greets me, obviously having read the caller ID. "What's up?"

"Where are you?" I ask. "Are you at the apartment?"

"No, I'm at the pizza joint. The Todd and I are getting some slices to go. Why?"

There's really no great way to say this. "J.D.'s in the hospital. I need his contact numbers."

"Huh?"

As briefly as I can without everybody in the canteen staring at me, I explain the situation. "Do you know how we can get in touch with his parents? I looked in his wallet, but I've got nothing."

"Yeah, his mom's on speed dial at our apartment," Turk answers. "I can't believe this. He said he was going to see Dan? I had a feeling he was trouble, but I didn't think anyone could do that sort of thing to their own brother…I mean, J.D. and I are like brothers. He'd never do anything to provoke that."

"Well, I think there's a lot more to this than we know. But could you call his mom and dad?"

"His dad's died during college—I'll get his mom on the line, though." He groaned. "She's not gonna be happy."

"I can imagine. How'd his dad die?"

"Got shot or something by some sort of gang," says Turk. "J.D. didn't really say much about it. I don't think he knew much about it himself. It was all pretty weird, and he was caught up in studying, anyway."

"A gang? Where the hell did they live?"

"Not exactly sure. I know it couldn't have been some ritzy place because J.D. only got in on scholarships." Turk pauses. "Could you, er, be the one that calls his mom?"

I frown. "No, I don't have the number. Be a man, Turk."

"But…"

"Bye." I hang up.

I always imagined Bambi as one of those kids that grew up with a perfect front lawn with a red bicycle in a rich area full of flowers. I imagined that he was one of those kids whose parents bought him a stethoscope and a briefcase at the age of three and said, "You can either go into medicine or law, take your pick."

I guess I was wrong.

And that's when something occurs to me. Gangs…could that have anything to do with J.D. being beaten up? Would this mysterious brother have connections to cause that sort of thing?

How much do we really know about Bambi?

* * *

And that's all you get till next week. I apologize in advance. AND IF YOU THROW TOMATOES AT ME, GUESS WHAT? I LOVE TOMATOES! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs or Zach Braff, but I am making an entire Chicken Little collection for him. So far I've got a Chicken Little Pez dispenser (video store next door to the toy store I work at), a bobblehead (which unfortunately means I have to eat the crappy cereal thatcame with it),and a sticker book (we got them in stock today...Iscared the crap out of a customer by saying, "OHMIGOSH, WHERE'D YOU GET THAT?" and making her point it out to me...). It will get larger, though, justyou wait! EvenZach Braff will be creeped out!

Ahhhhh...life is good...lol.

* * *

Turk's POV

Oh, crap. I can't believe she's making me do this. Well, first of all, I find it very hard to believe that J.D.'s unconscious in some room with an extremely iffy illness, either, but the whole phoning-of-the-mom thing doesn't make it any better. Isn't this what women are for? I feel like Satan, picking up the phone and dialing.

"Hello?" asks a voice. I recognize it from med school graduation. She was a little distant, though, like she was afraid to get too close to any of us. Oh, well.

"Mrs. Dorian…hi. It's, um, Turk."

"Turk?" she asks. She thinks about it for a moment. "Oh! Turk! You're J.D.'s friend. Right. So nice to hear from you…um…why am I hearing from you?"

"Oh. Um. I…"

"Hey, could you ask J.D. if he knows where the family albums are? I keep looking for them, but I can only find—"

"J.D.'s not here. He's in the hospital," I spit out. I take a deep breath. At least that's over with.

"What?" she gasps. "He's where?"

"He's in the hospital. Have you seen Dan lately?"

"Dan? My son? No, I haven't heard from him in ages. How did J.D. end up in the hospital? Is he alright?"

"I don't know all of the details," I explain, "but the last we heard from him, he was going to visit Dan. When the girls—er, my girlfriend Carla and our friend Elliot—found him, he was pretty badly beaten up. And he's pretty sick, too. We aren't sure what's going on, but I'm sure Sacred Heart is…"

"Sick?" she repeats.

"Yeah, sick. Bad fever, Carla told me."

"Oh…" She clears her throat. "Any idea…what it is?"

"No, but apparently it's pretty strong. They're running tests."

"Tests." She takes a deep breath. "Alright, then. Thank you for telling me."

"You're gonna come down, right? I mean, I'm sure he'd want you to be here."

"Um, I'm actually pretty busy this week, planning a…potluck. I really wish I could. Send him my love, will you?"

I scrunch my nose. Like that's gonna happen. "Can't you just try to—"

"I really must go," she asserts. "Good-bye, Tim."

"It's—" I get a dial tone. "It's Turk," I say into the phone numbly. "What the hell is her problem?" I wonder aloud. I mean, J.D.'s her son. Maybe she just didn't get the whole seriousness of the matter. I mean, even I wasn't so sure what was going on. But she'd acted like it didn't matter at all!

"Heh, I know where your damn photos are," I say into the dead receiver. "J.D. took 'em. They're under his bed." I slam down the phone resolutely, then retrieve my cell and dial Carla.

"WHO THE HELL IS THIS?" a voice roars on the other end. "I SWEAR TO GOD—ONE MORE CELL PHONE RINGING IN THIS DAMN HOSPITAL AND I'LL—"

"Um…uh…I am sorry," I said in my best fake middle eastern accent. "I have wrong number. Will not disturb again."

"Damn right, you'd better not disturb again—"

I hang up and figure the only way I'm gonna get through to Carla was to go straight to the hospital.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

"…_not everybody wants to be your friend." _

"…_do to yourself, Bambi? I can't…" _

"…_didn't pick up when I called…" _

I'm half-aware of the comings and goings of people in the room. I'm pretty sure, despite my wishes, I've been landed in the hospital. This is beyond embarrassing. Inwardly I wince, being unable to move.

"…_damn, can't find his money…" _

I force my eyes open and see the janitor digging through the pockets of my wallet. I groan.

"There's nothing in there, I haven't been to an ATM in months," I tell him. "There's an extremely old cherry lollipop from a Japanese restaurant, though, if you really must take something."

"Damn it," the janitor cusses, angrily throwing the wallet to the floor. "You're such a sissy. Lollipops. Where are the pressed flowers, girly? Geez, might as well go make small talk with the nurses…" he mutters to himself.

"Hey, you're not allowed in there," says a doctor from outside of the room. "That's a restricted room."

"Restricted to maintenance? Aw, that's great. Not only do we get paid dirt but you doctors treat us like dirt. Go get run over by a Porsche, will you?"

"Sir, until we understand what the virus is that the patient has, we cannot allow people into the room unless they're family members."

"I could be his father, for all you know."

I snort. What is this, Star Wars?

_Janitor is dressed in Darth Vader clothes, saying, "J.D…I am your father." J.D. screams, "NOOOOOO!" _

The doctor opens his mouth to speak but the janitor's already gone. He walks into the room.

"I see you're awake, Dr. Dorian," he greets me. He's pretty much completely dressed in white from head to toe, with a mask over his mouth. Gee, heaven forbid I breathe on him.

"Hi, I'm James Cooper. We work on different floors, so I don't believe we've met."

"Nice to meet you," I say. Wow. This is pretty awkward. I wonder vaguely how long it will take to strangle Elliot and Carla. Hmmm…could I strangle both of them at the same time?

"Nice to meet you, too. Well. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lie. Actually, my head's still pounding like several bricks landed on top of it and this room feels like the arctic, but the word "fine" is all relative.

"Really? Because we had your temperature at 104 just twenty minutes ago."

I can feel myself start to sweat. I gotta work my way out of here. This is getting more annoying by the second. "It's…er….summer. The thermometer's probably messed up by all the humidity. I actually feel fine."

"Sure. You know, lying isn't going to do you any good. In case you didn't notice, you're in a hospital," he jokes.

Haha. He's reeeeeal funny.

"Check again," I tell him. He shrugs. While he fishes for the thermometer, I feel my head—with the arm that isn't hooked up to a machine, of course. There's a bandage where I was smacked with that baseball bat. I can tell one of my eyes is extremely puffy, because I can hardly see out of it. This is great. I wonder how many sick days I'm going to waste.

"Open wide." We wait for a moment and he takes it out. "99 degrees…how is that possible?" he ponders, frowning.

"Eh, I'm just a fast healer," I say cockily.

"Okay, then…well, your tests should be coming through any second now. I'll go and check on them. You stay right here."

Like I have an option.

* * *

"Is he already in examination?"

"Huh? The kid? No. Why?"

"He's not in the cell. Did Dr. Cankson arrive?"

"No, not yet…the kid should still be in there."

"You mean he got AWAY? After all of that? HOW THE HELL DID THE KID GET AWAY?"

"Sir, I don't know—he was right in the cell when we left him, remember? I can't think of how—"

"I HAVE THE KEY! HOW COULD HE GET THROUGH? THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE!"

"But we know where he lives now. We can try to apprehend him again, sir, it really won't be that difficult—"

"Are you KIDDING? We have absolutely nobody to lure him in! The brother's halfway to Botswana by now, for all we know! I doubt he's stupid enough to be alone, either. Dammit to hell, this screwed up everything."

"There has to be some way…"

"We have a week. A week at the _most_. I need his blood sample while the virus is still dormant. If it's already hit him, we're screwed. We can't use the disease, let alone the vaccine. And if he's dead, it's even worse. Then we have nothing."

"So it is deadly."

"Yes. So it is."

"What exactly does it do?"

"I have no idea. That's why we _need _that annoying little doctor. Hey—is that—"

"An emergency exit…"

"IN THE MIDDLE OF A CELL? WHAT KIND OF PLACE IS THIS?"

"It was used as a movie set in the old days, I believe."

"Oh my God. This is unbelievable. Find him. Do you understand? Find him and get him back here—I don't care _what _you have to do, just _do _it."

* * *

Carla's POV

"You mean…you're releasing him already?" I ask the doctor incredulously. "Wasn't he—"

The doctor shrugs at me. "His fever's down, his head wound is fixed up and he wants out. No point in keeping him. I'm sure he's perfectly fine now."

"What about the tests? Didn't they pick up anything?"

"No, actually, it came back absolutely normal. It's like it never happened at all. He's good to go."

I let it sink in for a second. "Well, that's certainly good news. Can we go in and see him, then?"

"Sure. He's been moved to another room now, since there aren't any signs that he has a virus anymore. Down the hall," he directs me, pointing.

"Thanks."

"Hey, baby, wait up," Turk calls from behind me, jogging out of the elevator. "How's J.D. doing?"

"He's fine, actually," I tell him. "I mean, from the looks of it he just got better in a snap. No fever, no symptoms—nothing. You should call back his mom and tell her it's not as serious, but I don't want to stop her from…"

"She isn't coming," Turk interrupts, a confused look on his face. "She acted like it didn't matter at all and she hung up really fast. She creeps me out."

"Oh." My heart goes out to Bambi just then. But, you know, maybe she just didn't realize how serious it was. And it's all okay now. Bambi's fine, his brother's gone and everything's back to normal. "That's pretty weird, though," I acknowledge.

"She's always been weird." Turk exhales and gives me a grin. "Well, there's J.D. for you. He's got the attention span of a rodent. He probably couldn't have stayed sick if he _tried_."

I laugh, punching him lightly on the arm. "Yeah, I guess that's J.D. for you," I agree. "That doctor said he was down the hall. C'mon."

J.D. is staring up at the ceiling, muttering to himself. Turk clears his throat.

J.D. grins sheepishly, now aware of our presence. "Aw, c'mon, I was all the way to 632 dots on the ceiling!" he groans, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe you interrupted me before I got to a million. For shame!"

I crack up. It's such a relief that everything's alright.

"You really had us worried there, Bambi," I say seriously once I manage to collect myself. "You were pretty banged up. You have to let somebody know when that sort of thing happens, okay?"

J.D. nods. "I'm sorry I was…sort of snappish these past few days. It's been sort of weird."

"Snappish? What do you mean?" I raise my eyebrows. "I wouldn't say snappish. Stressed, maybe, but not snappish. What's been going on?"

He looks down at his lap, looking almost child-like in the hospital gown. He looks…afraid.

"I don't know what happened, actually. I really can't remember anything after Dan called." He forces a laugh. "Pretty weird, huh? For all I know I was getting beaten up by a couple of hot chicks!"

Turk laughs and they high-five. I thank my lucky stars that that Todd guy isn't anywhere in sight.

"Ha-ha," I remark sarcastically. "Okay, not funny. I'm serious. Whoever did that is pretty dangerous. I want to make sure that it'll never happen again. We care about you, Bambi. Even the big lug here."

Turk nods, but I have the sense he's mocking me behind my back because J.D. has a flash of mischief cross his face momentarily.

"I know, Carla. And…thanks. I mean, for coming to get me and then taking me here. I was being stupid arguing. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, it wasn't your fault. Besides, it's our job."

"Hey, where's Elliot?" asks Turk. "Didn't you say she was with you?"

I nod. "Yeah, but she got pretty worked up when no one was allowed to see J.D. They had you locked up pretty tight," I inform him.

"They have to do that with the crazy ones," Turk explains.

"So is that why Kelso has his own big office?" J.D. wonders aloud. "Hmmm. I need to think about that."

I grin. Yeah, things are definitely back to normal.

"I'll go down and talk to Elliot, see if she's still there," I announce, leaving the room. "You two keep each other company."

* * *

Me. Want. Jelly beans. I heart Easter, lol. I'm not particularly religious being the mutt that I am, but I know it means extra shifts and lotsa candy. Co-workers and I are drowning in tootsie pops and jelly beans and chocolate eggs and reese's pieces. Thank god I have some level of self control. lol.


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: Don't own Scrubs...again...

Hey...ever had a mishap like I did a second ago? Type one wrong letter and you've got Dr. Cow instead of Dr. Cox. Who woulda thought? Lol.

Well, enjoy the update! W00t!

* * *

Dr. Cox's POV

On my way out the door I pass Barbie again, still blubbering like a baby. The waiting room's empty by now, and for some reason we have an unexpected lull in activity. I figure it wouldn't kill me to sit down with her.

"Barbie, I do believe Ken will make it through," I say sarcastically, taking a seat next to her.

She sniffles. "He's J.D. We broke up."

"Ah. Right." I clear my throat. Wow, is this awkward. I should definitely make a mental note to steer clear of intern drama from here on out.

"I wish I knew what happened. I mean, one second he's normal J.D. and we're filing papers and then that damn cell phone rings. I didn't even know he _had _a brother. How awful is that? I sleep with a guy and I don't even—"

"Ahem."

Unfazed by my brief interruption, she continues, "—know about his family," she wails, blowing her nose again. "Carla came down earlier. Said something about a _gang_. Who'd have thought his father was shot by a gang? That's crazy. I thought that only happened in the movies. What if he's in real trouble? What if he never wakes up?"

Blah, blah, blah, blah. Bad idea.

"This is so crazy. Don't you think this is crazy? I mean, he's a doctor. Things aren't supposed to happen."

"Doctors aren't invincible," I remind her. Oh, shit. Did I really just say something inspirational and/or helpful? Dear God, what's happening to me?

"I…I really ought to go, though," I lie, getting up. Anything to escape Barbie.

She sniffles. "O-okay. Thanks for listening to me."

I freeze. "I wasn't listening," I say for good measure, "I was…"

She waves her hand at me, blowing me off. "Could you go check on him? Please?" She looks at me with her big, wide intern eyes. "They won't let me up there because I'm…I'm an intern."

_Fade to a scene where the interns are all in rags in some snowy, dirty alley, shivering in the cold. "Spare change, sir?" Elliot asks. J.D. crawls weakly over to his feet and Turk's eyes roll into the back of his head as he passes out. "Spare change for the interns?" she asks again, before she and the rest of the interns keel over. _

I hesitate. "…fine," I eventually agree.

But I get to save my breath, because Carla comes running down that very second. Barbie and I exchange a glance. There's nothing in my life that's been more creepy than actually sharing a dreaded understanding with a pathetic, sobbing intern.

We both know something's happened. And it's probably not good, by the way she's running.

"Hey!" She jogs up to us, a big smile on her face. "J.D.'s fine. It's a miracle or something. He's already trying to get released."

"He's…he's fine?" asks Barbie, flabbergasted. Her eyes widen and a grin breaks out on her face. "Are you serious?"

Carla nods, her face lit up. Wish I could make her half as happy as that.

"It's insane, isn't it?" Carla exclaims. "It's such a relief. He's already back to his normal self. C'mon, he's out of the restricted ward, you can go see him."

Alright, then. My work here is down. I stand up, stretch, and abruptly head for the exit.

"You coming, Perry?" Carla calls after me.

"Nah. I was just coming here to get my papers anyway. Too many prescriptions to fill out. Better finished now than later." I don't turn around to face her. I don't want anyone to think that anything's affected me, because…well…only interns and nurses are supposed to be emotional.

"Perry…he'd probably want—"

I snort. "Yeah, right. He'll scream like a girl if he sees me. Besides, I really have to go," I stress, opening the door. I still haven't faced her. I won't. Standing up straight, I stride out the door and head towards my car.

"You look like you could use a lollipop," says the janitor, propped up on the wall with a sucker in his hand. He offers it to me. "It's cherry."

"Thanks," I say, taking the lollipop from him and taking off the wrapper.

"Anytime," he says proudly. "Anytime."

That guy makes me wonder sometimes. I shudder and head to my car.

* * *

Elliot's POV

I don't believe it at first, but it's definitely our J.D. in there, flinging cafeteria Jell-O at the wall with Turk. If possible, I end up grinning even harder, letting myself in.

"Hey!" J.D. greets me. "Look, we're making a mural," he laughs, pointing to the Jell-O that they've managed to keep stuck.

"J.D., you're…you're completely better," I marvel. "Beside that bump on your head, you're completely cured. What happened?"

He shrugs. "I'm invincible."

_Doctors aren't invincible. _I twitch, recalling Dr. Cox's words. They sounded like an eerie warning at the time. But I'm paranoid. I know that about myself by now.

"You're certainly lucky, that's for sure," I say to him. "What happened?"

He grimaces. "No idea, actually. All I can remember is going to get coffee, and then BAM. I'm here." He shrugs again. "Want some of the ham sandwich? I'm not that hungry anyway, and you can't really launch this at the wall."

"Wanna bet?" Turk challenges him.

"You're on."

"W-w-wait—" I protest. But they're already at it.

"Eh, it's just their way of expressing emotion," Carla explains, gesturing to the two foolish looking men. "We cry, they destroy."

"But they're happy."

"Exactly."

Um. I don't get it. But it doesn't matter. Everything's okay, nobody's going to die and nothing's going to happen to J.D. Tomorrow I'll go to work as usual and finish filing those stupid papers. Turk and Carla will make out some more, Dr. Cox will mock J.D. some more, and I'll…attempt unsuccessfully to hide my tendency to stalk J.D.

"Dr. Dorian," interrupts a doctor who walks in nonchalantly, not even bothering to take notice of the mess on the wall. "You've been released. All you have to do is sign the papers."

"That was awfully fast," says Carla, cocking an eyebrow. "How can we be sure he's fine?"

"Cuz I can do this," J.D. explains, demonstrating his ham sandwich fling. "That's some pretty good aim, if you ask me."

"Well, he really wanted out, so we pulled a few strings," the doctor says, handing J.D. the papers. J.D. signs it quickly and grabs his coat. I notice he's already fully dressed and ready to leave, the only hint of the earlier incident the blood on his sleeve where he wiped at his head and the bandage on his forehead.

"I don't know if this is a good idea…" Carla says doubtfully.

J.D. frowns. "What would be the point in staying? I'm fine and someone else is gonna need this bed before long. Let's go."

"Pizza at the apartment!" Turk declares.

"Unless J.D. feels like resting. I mean, he just got out of the…"

"I haven't eaten anything but coffee in two and a half days," J.D. says with a slightly crazed tone of voice. "I need pizza."

"You could've just eaten that ham sa—"

"You don't _eat _ammo," he protests. "Don't you get it?"

His expression is so silly I can't help but grin. I wish it were always like this. I wish we didn't have to worry and rush around all over the place so we could actually have fun once in a while.

Then again, the rushing and bustle of the hospital has never stopped J.D. from having fun. He just talks to patients all day to keep himself amused. I wonder how he does it sometimes.

"You guys can get a ride from me," Carla offers. I remember that my car's still in the shop and J.D. has no other way of getting out of here. Good thing Carla's around.

"Thanks," we say at the same time. We exchange a nervous glance. Suddenly the tension is there all over again. Is it just me, or do I keep catching him staring at me? Am I sweating? I thought we were past this a long time ago.

"We're here. Are you two just gonna stay in there? Because if you want to stare blankly out the front window, it's fine by me," Carla suggests, shrugging.

"Oh!" I whip my head around, realizing where we are. "Sorry."

She rolls her eyes and nudges me once I'm out of the car. "You and Bambi…?"

"No," I snap, blushing. "No way. I was just worried."

"Ah." She nods, but I can see the doubt flickering in her eyes. I pretend I don't notice.

"Hey. I already ordered in the pizza. It's coming in ten minutes, they said," Turk announces, already sitting on the couch with the TV on. "Man, I wish we had TiVo. You missed the funniest episode of Desperate Housewives, man—"

Carla clears her throat. "Um…"

"I—I totally meant to say Monster Truck Rally, baby. I don't know where that came from—"

"Did Eva Longoria's husband get arrested?" J.D. asks eagerly.

"Shut _up_, man!"

"But—but—"

"Look, it's my favorite…er…car commercial," I interrupt, trying to salvage some of their manly pride. Eh, too late for that, though. "Let's watch."

Awkward silence. Crap. Look what I've done now.

Someone honks outside, laying their hand on the horn obnoxiously. "Ugh!" I yell out, my hands immediately flying to my ears. "How annoying! The nerve of some people…"

Carla stalks up from the couch and shuts the window closed resolutely, drowning it out. The horn continues to blare and she stares out the window with a disapproving frown. "Some guy in a Hummer," she snarls. "Think they own everything."

J.D.'s face pales. "A Hummer?" he repeats.

"Yeah. What, becoming an environmentalist?" Carla teases him, sitting back on the couch and turning up the television. The racket stops. "Well, he's gone. Good riddance."

"I'm going to…brush my teeth," J.D. excuses himself, getting up.

"But we're about to have pizza," I remind him with a quizzical look.

He pauses, halfway to the bathroom. "Well…I didn't get a chance to last night and it feels really gross. I have to or the pizza won't taste good," he explains, flashing me a grin. "You're a doctor. Aren't you supposed to commend hygiene?"

The doorbell rings.

"Pizza!" Turk exclaims, bouncing up from the couch.

Everyone else misses it, but I see him. J.D.'s eyes flick over to the door, filled with panic, and he nearly runs into the apartment bathroom and shuts the door swiftly. Turk and Carla pay for the pizza and I stare at the door, wondering what could possibly be going on.

"J.D.," I call, knocking on the bathroom door. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he half-speaks, half-gargles. "Just bershing my teef."

"Are you sure?"

"Yesh, I'm sure. I'll be oug in a segond."

I knit my eyebrows, confused. Something wasn't quite right here.

* * *

Ate too much Easter candy...I'm gonna be working that off for awhile, lol...darn that chocolate bunny!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Thanks for all the reviews! I'm a lil' confused cuz they don't get emailed to me anymore, lol. But I can check the site.

Disclaimer: Yadayada you've heard this before.

* * *

I'm hungry. I really am. But I also feel sick to my stomach.

I think it's mostly out of fear. First of all, there's a fear that I'm being stalked by some freaks that intend on spreading a deadly virus all over the world. Second of all, there's the fear that—eepers—the deadly virus is _in_ me. Third of all, I could be completely nuts and imagining all of this.

Fourth of all, the pizza's getting cold and Turk said that they killed Tamara off of our favorite soap. Something about a piano falling off a porch. Damn, I wish we had TiVo.

"J.D., are you gonna eat that?" asks Turk once all the pizza is gone and all that's remaining was my slice.

"Go ahead," I say, pushing the paper plate over to him.

Carla slaps his hand. "Let him eat, he hasn't had anything all day."

I shake my head. "Nah, I'm just tired. I think I'll go crash. See you guys in the morning, though."

"You're not coming into work," Elliot says, as if it's fact.

"Um, yes I am."

"Dude, you could totally get away with a sick day. Kelso can't beat you up about it—surely he's heard about your, er, little adventure. If you've got that kind of power, why waste it?" Turk demands through a mouthful of pizza, looking at me in mock disgust.

I roll my eyes. "Debts, my friend. I gotta pay 'em off." I grin, though, suddenly excited once I remember. "I finished paying off my college loans last month, though!"

"Great. Now work on the hundred thousand for med school," Turk snorts.

I send him a death glare. "Less than you've got," I remind him.

"Yeah, because I'm no prissy nerd getting scholarships right and left!" he jokes.

"I'm not prissy!" I say in response. I yawn. "Oh, and I'm not a nerd, either."

Elliot chokes on her Sprite after trying not to laugh. "Yeah, and I'm gay."

My eyes widen. "I can't believe I slept with you!"

She blushes madly. "J.D., I was being sarcastic!" she protests, thoroughly embarrassed.

"J.D. doesn't understand sarcasm," Turk tries to explain. "I've tried to teach him for the longest time, but he just doesn't seem to catch on."

"Oh yeah? Well then, Turk, you're an absolute genius!"

"Thanks."

"…I was doing the sarcastic thing…"

Carla sighs as the other two try to stifle more giggles. "Sorry, J.D., but that was pathetic."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"No."

"…Oh. Well, I'm going to bed now."

"I'd better get to my apartment," says Elliot, getting up and grabbing her purse. "You're sure you'll be alright?"

"I'll be fine," I tell her, trying to be serious for three seconds. "Unless, of course, Turk starts rapping in his sleep again, in which case I'll be traumatized."

Seriousness failed. Again.

She offers me a small smile. "See you in the morning, then."

"Bye, guys. I'll drive you to the car dealership," she offers Elliot. "Let's go."

"Thanks," Elliot says gratefully.

"You watch yourself, Bambi," Carla warns me. "And baby? Lock the door."

Turk nods in understanding. I'm secretly glad. I know that they suspect that something happened with Dan—which is plausible, because something _did _happen with him—but it isn't Dan I fear. It's those men. I know they're still after me.

I flop on the bed, but I don't know if I'll be able to sleep. Too many things are racing through my mind. Finally, though, my eyes shut closed and I drift into semi-consciousness.

"_J.D.!" _

_I look up and see Elliot running towards me, stumbling in high heels. We're on the road, near the driveway that leads into Sacred Heart. She looks frantic. _

"_Run, J.D., it's coming!" she yells frantically. Then she trips, falling flat on her face. _

_I'm seized with panic, hardly able to breathe. Staring out at the horizon, I see a mass of black descending on us, hovering over the city like impending doom. It sends shivers up my spine; quickly, I race to Elliot's side. It seems to take years to run the several yards over to her. _

_By the time I get there, she's dead. She disappears, sinking into the sidewalk without a trace. _

"_Elliot? Elliot, come back," I plead hopelessly, down on my knees with my eyes fixed on the smooth cement. "Come back!"_

"_J.D.! Man, you gotta get outta here." Turk runs up behind me and shakes my shoulder. _

"_But—but Elliot—"_

"_It's too late, man, we gotta go!" _

"_What's happening?" I demand. "What's coming? Turk, we can't just leave her here—"_

"_It's…it's you, J.D. Your plague. It's coming." _

_My heart is pounding wildly. "Wh-what?" _

"_It's catching. Everyone's dying. C'mon, run, before it hits us, too!" _

"_Turk—" _

_He runs away. "No…no," I mutter to myself. It couldn't be me. I wouldn't do this. Not Elliot. Not half the city. _

_Again, I turn my head to the horizon and see the blackness ready to overwhelm us, suffocate everyone. I close my eyes and brace myself, trying with all my might to will my legs to move. I can't. It's over now. I'm going to die—_

I splutter, jerking up in bed. "What the—"

"Sorry," Turk apologizes sheepishly, an empty drinking glass in his hands. "I kept trying to wake you up, but nothing else worked."

The lights are on and I'm completely drenched with water. "Gee, thanks."

"See? That's sarcasm!" Turk exclaims, clapping his hands together.

I groan. "Is it really time for work already?"

"Yeah. Well, at least for you. I'm leaving in an hour. Man, what were you dreaming about? You were freaking out all over the place."

Dreaming? Oh, that's right. I shudder. More like nightmare-ing. "Crazy sex," I lie.

"Really? Who was it?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"A random hot bar chick."

"Awesome!" Turk throws me a fruit cup (which we, hem, totally didn't steal from the hospital). "Anyway, you're running late. Might want to get a move on, your shift is in, like, fifteen minutes."

I check the clock. "Thanks. See you at lunch, then?"

"Damn straight, dude. It's chili day."

I already feel queasy at the thought, which is unusual. I love chili day. Every week there's one chili day that Turk, the Todd and I all look forward to. But today just felt different.

"Alright!" I cheer, mustering up enthusiasm. Once he's gone I race into my scrubs and run out into my car. I feel a little sluggish, but I'm sure it's just a sick-day hangover. I feel a hell of a lot better than I did before.

"Tamara, you showed up," Dr. Cox observes, looking slightly surprised for a moment. At least, I thought he looked surprised. He might have needed to itch his nose.

"Respect for the dead," I remind him.

"Newbie, we don't discuss soap opera plots in this hospital while we're on duty," he scolds me. Then he thrusts a chart at me. "I don't really know why you're here, but if you're that dead set on infecting every patient in the hospital, then be my guest. Might as well just throw our good track record out the window. Be sure to slab some of your lovely germs on Kelso's desk while you're at it."

I open my mouth to protest, but he interrupts. Typical.

"Here's your new patient. She was admitted with several minor injuries from a car accident last night, but it turns out our little 'virgin' over there is pregnant. Thankfully the baby wasn't harmed in any of the x-rays because they were only on her leg and head, so don't stay awake tonight worrying your pretty little head over some poor fetus. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, sir."

He stops in his tracks. "What did you just call me?" he asks incredulously.

"Erm. Sir. I mean, Sir Cox. Um, Dr. Cox." I gulp. _Please, please, please don't launch into another rant! _

"Katrina, I know you always wanted to be a sales associate at the Gap, but I'm sorry to inform you that you are, in fact, a doctor. If you want to look into a career change, then I fully support you, but please practice addressing customers on your own time. Kindly refer to me as 'Doctor'—or 'Master,' in your case—if you will. All clear?"

"Crystal." Phew. It's over. He turns around and leaves, probably off to torture some other poor intern. At least my time was finished for the day. At least till noon, which is the next scheduled Dr. Cox confrontation. I'm good till then, though.

* * *

Dr. Cox's POV

Interestingly enough, I'm feeling this extremely unfamiliar emotion. Sort of like guilt, only some mixture of shame. Carla really did lay it on thick yesterday. But as soon as Newbie walks in, the feeling pretty much evaporates faster than lightning.

But I can't help but check up on him periodically. I mean, I'm a doctor. It's my responsibility to make sure nobody flops over dead—heaven forbid such a thing happen during MY shift—so it's perfectly justified. I notice that he's still pale, but all of us are sun-deprived, so that's not a problem. Occasionally he stops randomly when he thinks he's alone to catch his breath; he saw me walk past once and immediately resumed activity.

I don't say anything. He's probably still just worn out from yesterday, which wouldn't be unusual. Why the hell is he in here, anyway? Not that it's any business of mine, seeing as it doesn't affect me in any way, shape or form, but it is a little odd.

"Yo, J.D.! Over here."

I look up from my chili and see one of the surgeons, the one dating Carla, wave Newbie over to his table.

"I thought we were eating outside today," Newbie says grimly, his scrubs drenched with wet mud. "Kelso drove over a mud puddle right past me. Funny…it wasn't exactly in his path…"

"Oh, I'm allergic to the new flowers out there," Barbie explains, "so I guess we're eating in here."

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"Carla, did you hear that? I told you he was getting better!"

"Huh?"

"He used sarcasm!" Turk says proudly. "I am _so _a master."

"Ha-ha."

"He did it again--!"

"That needs to stop," Barbie cuts him off, taking a large mouthful of chili. "Eek! Hot, hot, hot, hot!" She swallowed with obvious difficulty, her face turning bright red. Newbie and his friend burst out laughing.

"You really think so?" Todd, the infamous surgeon, flexes his bicep. "I've been working out."

She flings chili at him.

"Well, then," he says, retreating.

"Nice one," Carla congratulates her, cracking a smile.

I roll my eyes. Talk about immature. I wonder how Carla can stand it, but in a way, they would all cease to function without her. Maybe she likes the whole needy-intern scene. Hm. The chili's good, though, so I'm satisfied. Lunch and a show. Interns can be amusing, at least, when they aren't annoying the hell out of you.

The minutes pass by and soon lunch is almost over.

"Dude. You didn't touch the chili," Newbie's surgeon friend points out, shocked. "It's chili day, J.D.! What the hell is the matter with you? Snap out of it!"

Newbie gives his friend a look of sheer panic. "That cafeteria worker keeps spitting in my food," he says, glancing over at the bearded man with fear in his eyes. "I've seen him do it. Nothing is safe."

"I've got vending machine money if you need it," Carla offers, looking concerned.

"Nothing is safe!" he says, shaking his head and flashing her a goofy grin. He stands up and chucks the tray. "Besides, it's too late. Lunch is over in five minutes. I've got an energy bar in my locker, anyway."

"Alright, then," Carla gives in. "Be careful."

"What do I need to—" Newbie trips on the janitor's mop. His eyes widen. "Uh—I'm sorry—"

"Sorry? That's just swell, champ. First you dirty up all my floors and then you try to assassinate me with my own mop. That's just dandy."

"Assassinate? Whoa, aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?"

The janitor puts his head down solemnly. "I'm sorry. I'm a janitor, you know. We can't help but get carried away. Please forgive me, I forgot to take my janitor meds this morning to prevent me from being mean to bitty interns."

"Uh…bye."

I clear my tray, lunch finished, and walk out into the nurse's station to get my clipboards, trying to push Newbie out of my mind. Why do I keep thinking something bad is going to happen? He's obviously fine.

As I pass an empty hallway, though, I see him leaning against the wall again, holding his head.

I keep going. Interns aren't my problem.

* * *

Ooookkayyyy...buh-bye.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Sorry it's been so long! Let me shake my magic eight ball of excuses...Hmmmm...(SHAKES INCREDIBLY HARD). DARN IT, I busted it again! CRAP.

Nah. Seriously, I've just been incredibly caught up in finals and work and swim team and the play I'm in (which has ended). I'm updating now, though. Have no fear, I do not intend to abandon this baby--er, fic--of mine.

Disclaimer: Don't own Scrubs.

Now. READ.

* * *

JD's POV

My shift is _totally _over. I'm so tired right now I can't even break into my usual "off-work" dance. I feel like my head's been in triple-overtime the whole day, and that was after all the aspirin I managed to sneak from a drawer earlier.

"You're on call."

"Huh?"

Kelso turns around, forcing a grin. "You heard me, sport. We're understaffed and you're on call tonight. Is that a problem?"

I hesitate. "Um, no." I'm probably safer in here, anyway, I think to myself.

"Good. Now get back to work."

Ugh.

"Newbie, good to see that Satan has enslaved more than one of us," Dr. Cox greets me.

"Good evening to you, too," I mutter, yawning.

He snaps his fingers in front of my face. "Wakey-wakey. Now, I hope that the last time we did this has properly beaten a routine into that small brain of yours. First, you get me coffee. Then, you leave me alone unless you're going to kill a patient, in which case I may actually talk to you for five, maybe six seconds. Now get moving."

"Coffee," I say, saluting and making my way towards the machine. Unfortunately the coffee machine on the third floor is busted, so I have to climb up the stairs to the fourth floor to retrieve it.

On the way back down I decide to use an elevator, just in case I spill the coffee on the way down the stairs. By the time I'm inside and see the janitor glaring at me, the doors have closed and it's too late to run away.

"Hello, Scooter."

"Hi," I say nervously, trying to balance the two coffee cups in my hands. I wonder why he always seems to have my shift. It's uncanny.

"Whatcha got there?"

"Coffee."

"Ah," he says, shaking his head. "Caffeine. Funny how the janitors don't get to use the coffee machine like all the fancy-pants doctors do."

"You can use them," I say, shrugging. "I mean, it's just the coffee machine. Who said you couldn't use it?"

He nods. "You know what, doctor? I think you're right. Let's just forget the fact that caffeine could critically injure me because of my allergy so I can march right up and get some coffee just to please _you_."

"But there's no such thing as…"

"Right. You think I'm lying, don't you? Because I'm a janitor and everything. Well, maybe I am lying. How would you know?" he says creepily, his eyes widening.

Okay. Okay. He's trying to psych me out. Don't let it work.

_Man, _is this elevator ride long!

The elevator doors open and I escape, nearly running smack into Dr. Cox.

"Coffee?" I say, offering him the cup.

He rolls his eyes, taking the cup from me. "Try not to kill anyone, would you? I'm trying to make this next twelve hours as painless as possible."

"I hear you loud and clear," I agree. My head is pounding. I swig some of the coffee down—that ought to help. It doesn't, though, so I move on to other patients.

"Coffee," Dr. Cox calls after an hour or so.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

"Look, there goes his friend."

"What do you suggest we do, jump out of the car and wave screaming, 'Hey, we're stalking your best friend, care to tell us where he is?' Honestly."

"I was just saying…"

"I don't care about his friend. We need _him_. Every second that's wasted could mean that the disease is taking its course…we can't waste it, we've waited too long. If this falls through now, then we're screwed."

"I don't get it. Why did we only use one kid? Why did it take this long?"

A snort. "Because only one couple needed the money badly enough to sell their kid's life. The disease took that long to manifest because we figure the longer it stays dormant, the deadlier it is. Basically it's been multiplying in the kid since he was two years old. We'll speed up the multiplication once we get it out of him…_if_ we can get it out in time."

"Why not use an orphan?"

"We could keep tabs on this kid. The family was willing to cooperate."

"Oh."

"I can't believe I got landed with you. You don't know anything about the mission, you're way too young."

"But Dad…"

"Shut up, will you? They're close to us now. The kid could be coming out of those doors any minute. Pay attention."

* * *

J.D.'s POV

I'm so tired. The sun is starting to rise and the double shift is almost over. This has probably been the longest twenty-four hours of my life.

Sitting on the couch in the staff lounge, I can feel my own heart pounding in my head. It's beginning to become quite a nuisance. It'll go away with a little sleep, though. That's all I need.

I swallow hard. That is, if those creepy guys don't come after me. Then all I'll need is fifty FBI hit men and possibly a turbo-charged water gun.

Still keeping in mind, though, that I might have completely hallucinated their existence. I really have no idea what was real and what never happened. I mean, some guys trying to suck a disease out of me to take over the world? Sounds a bit crazy. Sounds a bit like some kind of twisty, senseless dream. I'm probably just paranoid now.

Psych ward, here I come!

"NEWBIE."

"Huh?"

"I've been calling your name for over thirty seconds, standing in this exact spot," Dr. Cox says, clearly annoyed. "Ignoring me isn't going to make me go away, Sheila, despite your crossed fingers and wishing on a star and all that crap."

"Sorry," I mutter, getting up.

"You'd better be. Now go get coffee."

"But the shift's over."

He frowns. "Do you really think that just because your _hospital _shift is over, you're free from my doing? Newsflash, Newbie. _You _get me coffee. _I _decide when you're finished getting the coffee. Do you think you have an inkling of understanding now?"

I nod, heading towards the machine.

"Whoa. That's no fun. You're supposed to quiver in fear or do something stupid that I can laugh at you about and call you girl's names."

"Caffeine's not working right," I say, grinning and walking out of the room. I can feel his eyes burning the back of my neck. But he doesn't suspect anything, I'm sure of that.

Damn, though, does my head hurt. Surprisingly enough, I'm not hungry. I don't believe I've eaten in four and a half days. I feel sick to my stomach.

But it's only because I haven't slept. I'm not a hypochondriac. Besides, it's creepy when a doctor gets sick, almost like an oxymoron. It doesn't happen. End of mental argument.

I hand Dr. Cox his coffee.

"Thank you. Now I can have something to sustain me on the short, five-second drive home. You may have just prevented a five car pile up right at the intersection outside of this dump. Congratulations."

I force a laugh. "I'm honored."

He clears his throat. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

I shake my head. "Night shift tonight. Kelso's in a bad mood."

"You're doing _what_?"

"I'm on call again tonight," I repeat. "What, do you know something I don't?" I ask, my eyes widening. "Is it, like, karaoke night or something? Oh God, I'll never make it—"

"You're such a wimp, Carrie," Dr. Cox taunts me. "Scared of karaoke night. Since when do we have karaoke in Dullsville? You interns are truly naïve."

"Well, when you said…I just thought…" I shudder. "No karaoke, then."

"No. And there never will be. Now get out of my sight and go back to your alleyway for some sleep, would you? You're frightening the patients. You're a girl—have the sense to put some cover-up under those eyes, would you? Geez! You never learn!"

* * *

Dr. Cox

"Bob, open up," I call, knocking on his office door.

"He's not here right now."

"Damn it, open the door," I yell back at him.

The door creaks open. "Something you need to tell me, Perry?"

"Yes. What is _this_?" I ask him, shoving the list of on call doctors staffed for tonight.

"The on call list. What is the meaning of this, Dr. Cox?" he asks me lightly, smiling as if he doesn't know. Well, I know he has to be aware. I'm not falling for it. Every doctor in this hospital knows that Newbie was in here two days ago, in the restricted ward. Nurse Roberts gets news around fast.

"Don't play stupid," I snap, indicating the name "Dr. Dorian" on the bottom of the list. "For one thing, we are _not _understaffed for tonight. And Newbie here wasn't on the list three hours ago. Why are you doing this to him?"

"I'm sorry, am I supposed to check in on every individual intern's personal life and ask if it's alright to schedule them? Pardon me for my rudeness," he replies angrily, smile faded. "He's a doctor, Perry, not a kid. Now quit coddling him."

"You know as well as I do that he's not going to call in sick or find a way to opt out. He'll take that shift if it kills him. He's still sick—if you can't tell just by _looking _at him, well, maybe the first class you took that read 'Introduction to Med School' might have been a little too challenging for you to comprehend. We can't afford for something to happen to him."

"Are you suggesting something will?" asks Kelso, eyebrows raising.

My fists burn. "You shouldn't do this. On _purpose. _You're testing him."

"I'll admit that I am. I really want to know why you've taken such a special interest in this intern. Maybe I'll find out," he says, grinning, "because he sure doesn't seem to be that great to me."

"Special _interest_?" I laugh out loud. "You think I actually care about an intern. Bobby, Bobby, Bobby…" I laugh again. "That's absurd. Dr. Dorian here constantly comes with questions as all interns do, and that's the limit of communication we have on a daily basis. Surely you know that."

"Then why is it that you're in here demanding for me to take him off the schedule?"

"Because I actually give a damn about the interns as a whole, somewhere deep inside," I say in the corniest voice I can muster. "I'm in charge of them when you aren't petrifying. They come to me for help. It would be the same with any other intern—you wouldn't understand that, spawn of Satan that you are—" I sigh, cutting myself off. "You know what? Give me that." I take the schedule back and put my name at the bottom of the list. "I'm taking the on call shift, too."

"I'm afraid you can't do that. We're already overstaffed as it is," Kelso says, his grin widening.

I toss the clipboard back at him. "Tough shit. I'm coming in tonight."

I walk out to my car, furious with myself. I cannot believe I just did something _that repulsive. _It's only out of guilt, though. I don't actually care about _any _of the interns; I know I would just feel bad if they all died in a barn fire or something. Not exactly a barn fire, but I'm no idiot. If something happened to one of them I might not be able to justify it, creepily enough, being a doctor and everything.

As I open the car door to my Porsche and settle myself behind the steering wheel, I watch Newbie's dingy car pull out of the parking lot, followed by a green Volkswagen. He's fine. I don't know why I did that anyway. He's not sick anymore, he's just tired like anyone would be after a twenty-four hour shift. I'm only speculating.

I think.

* * *

And that's all you get for today. **JOIN MY ZACH BRAFF COMMUNITY ON FANFIC.** It's under the "Scrubs" section. You hit the "C2" button at the top of the page, then TV shows, then Scrubs, then the only living community at the present time, and then you join it. No, nothing happens and you certainly don't get any cookies, but...but...Aw, C'MON, it's for Zach Braff! Join it, folks, in the name of all his hotness!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I have yet to own Scrubs, but JOIN MY **C2 for Zach Braff **listed under Scrubs! Lol.

* * *

"Bambi," I say harshly as soon as he's in the apartment. 

He shields his eyes with a grocery bag that's sitting on the counter. "You wanna go change?"

"They're only pajamas!" I snap at him. And they're silky soft—but hardly revealing with long sleeves and pants. Ugh. Men. "Where were you? I thought you had the day shift! What possessed you to stay out all night?"

"I was on call," he protests, eyes widening. "What, you think I was partying? Woo, yeah, Mr. Lance! Party till dawn and we'll get you an extra _kidney_!"

"You were on call?"

"No. I told you. I was partying."

"Yeah! Sarcasm!" Turk runs up and high-fives him.

I roll my eyes. "Bambi, I just expected…you know, you'd call. After everything that's happened over the past few days, I couldn't help but think that you'd…"

He looks down at the floor, purposefully avoiding my eyes. "Well, you know Dr. Cox. Couldn't find a moment to call with him around. Besides…Dan's gone."

"We don't know that," I remind him. Though I am relieved that Dr. Cox seemed to have been watching him. Maybe he does have a heart. Or maybe, as usual, interns—this time JD—are the only people at the hospital stupid enough to think that older doctors are allowed to send them to get coffee. I see a brown stain on J.D.'s scrubs. Yup, he was definitely Coffee Slave Number 5394.

He shakes his head. "No. I know he's gone." Then he stretches, yawning loudly. "I'm beat. Move over," he says to Turk, who's sitting on the couch. Turk obliges reluctantly, taking his legs off of the cushions.

"You missed Grey's Anatomy last night, man!" Turk whines.

"I did?" J.D.'s eyes snap open, inches from drifting off. "Aw, crap. What happened?"

"Man, it was the episode with the woman and her quintuplets! I can't believe you missed it! I was hanging off the edge of the couch the _whole time_…Dude? Dude…?"

J.D. snores softly from his position on the couch, and I laugh out loud. "Gee, Turk, that was pretty fast," I tease him, flopping down on the couch with them. "You knocked him out faster than I could swat a spider!"

"There are spiders in the apartment?"

"…No." I look over at J.D. "I really wish I knew what was going on in that head of his," I say aloud.

"Yeah," Turk agrees. "Ever notice how he randomly blanks out and occasionally starts dancing or doing something stupid? He's been doing it since the day I met him!"

"I _have _noticed that!" I giggle. I poke him in the gut. "You're the surgeon, baby. Why don't you get into his head…"

He pokes me on the shoulder, grinning. "Lemme get into yours, first…"

The door knocks. Damn. There goes another perfect moment wasted.

Sighing, I get up from the couch and look into the peephole. Two men stand there, one older, maybe in his sixties, and the other in his late twenties.

"Yeah?" I ask before answering. This is a bad part of town, so occasionally we get drunk bums knocking on the door and stumbling in.

"Uh…is John around?" asks the older man.

"John? Sorry, sir, I think you've got the wrong apartment."

"No, no—I'm Johnny boy's Uncle Carl, and this is his cousin. I'm sure this is the address."

"Carla, they're asking for J.D.," Turk informs me, grinning.

A light bulb goes off in my head. "Oh! You mean J.D.?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're here to see J.D., my nephew. Been a while, you know? He said it would be nice to hear from us, and we were swinging into town…"

I look over at Bambi, sleeping peacefully after the Hell Shift. "I'm sorry, sir, but he's resting right now. He just had a really long shift."

"Wake him, would you? I'm sure he'd be glad to see us."

"But…"

"Just wake him," he says, a little too forcefully.

"Hey, I don't know you, mister," I snap at him, "so don't get stuck on your little throne up there."

"Who is it?" Turk asks.

J.D. stirs and I groan. Mission failed.

"What—oh. Who's at the door?" he asks, yawning again.

"Your Uncle Frank."

J.D. frowns. "Uncle Frank…? But…oh my God," he gasps, "don't answer it."

"Sir, he's really tired. Maybe another day," I tell the man at the door, immediately obeying. J.D.'s eyes are filled with so much fear it seems unnatural. My heart starts to race, glancing into the peephole again. These men aren't kind. And they definitely aren't J.D.'s family.

"I heard him talking to you!"

"That was my boyfriend, Turk. J.D.'s in his room asleep. Now please leave."

"Well, you tell J.D. we'll come back later. We're waiting for him," says the older man menacingly.

A chill runs up my spine. I don't say good-bye, but I hear them walking down the hall.

I turn back to J.D. He's pale and sweating, staring at the door as if it's going to come to life and eat him. The terror in his face is enough to send me into full-blown panic mode.

"Explain," I command.

He takes a few deep breaths, deathly pale and shaking. "I can't believe this," he finally mutters, getting up off the couch and completely ignoring me. He heads into his room and closes the door.

"Get back here!" I shout, running up at his door and pulling the knob. It's locked. "Damn it. He'd better explain himself or I'll…"

"Calm down, baby. You're blowing this out of proportion," says Turk, though I notice he looks as weird-ed out as I feel. "Just leave him alone for a little while. I'm sure he's tired. Just…wait till later tonight."

The frustration bubbles. "But—but—"

I can see he's right, even as I stand here pouting like a child who didn't get her lollipop. "It's just…"

"I know. You worry too much," he says, rolling his eyes. "Those are just creeps. They'll be gone within the hour and find someone else to annoy."

"But Turk…didn't you see J.D.'s face? He was _scared_. He was really, truly scared." I shudder, his face at that moment embedded in my thoughts.

* * *

J.D.'s POV

That's it—I'm leaving. Tonight. Screw Dr. Kelso and his on call schedule. There isn't any time to call in sick anyway; besides, I can't hold a job as a doctor carrying some horrible plague.

My eyes water. So, I guess I wasn't hallucinating. Those men are real, I'm not a hypochondriac or schizophrenic (the good news, at least), my brother really did try to sell me out to madmen and I'm carrying a disease that could be used for warfare.

Could this day get any worse?

I swipe at my eyes, leaving no trace of the weakness. This is no time to be getting weepy. I have to pack and get out of here, preferably before Turk and Carla get back at seven o'clock tonight.

As I pack, I'm truly not even thinking about anything that goes into the crappy, torn apart suitcase. Toothbrush. Underwear. A couple of shirts and pants. I pack a pair of scrubs, though I don't really understand why. In goes some of the old family photo albums. I wonder if my mom wants them back. She loaned them out to me a couple of months ago and hasn't said anything. Doesn't matter now, though, they're probably contaminated since I've touched them. Same with everything in the room. I swallow hard.

How am I going to get out of the city? Where am I going to go? Is there a place I can survive without making contact with other human beings?

Then it occurs to me. I'm not going to need to find somewhere to live. I don't really have to pack all of these clothes and albums, because I'm not going to be using them.

I'm going to die.

At the thought I immediately sink to the floor. My head's still pounding and every muscle and bone seems to be aching. I'm so tired. I'm not ready to face this, I think to myself, closing my eyes and leaning back against the bed frame. I'm not ready to die. I've just gotten out of college and med school, I'm finally doing everything I've dreamed…

Just a quick nap, and then I'll get out of here.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Damn that woman! Who does she think she is, his secretary? I don't think they're even related!"

"You sounded completely unbelievable, though. Uncle Frank? Where did that come from? I thought you said we had a background on him."

"What was I supposed to do, leave the door and go check it? Better than what you were doing, standing there like a blubbering fish without anything to say."

"You spoke first. If you'd ever let me get in a god damn word, then maybe I would've been able to cover for us! I actually _read _the background on him and memorized it! There isn't an uncle. Well, there was, but he died five years ago. He has two aunts on his mother's side—"

"Quit your yapping. I don't give a damn what you've researched. I'm the authority here, don't you question me."

"You're doing it wrong, Dad."

"Don't call me that! I'm not your father here. I'm your superior."

"Because you never were a father. You were—are—an idiot. You just never listen. You can't stand it that someone might be _better_ than you. Well, let me tell you, there are _plenty _of people better than you are. Just because you want to play God and infect half the people in the world for _power _doesn't make you the greatest thing ever."

"You get the hell back in this car if you know what's good for you!"

"No. I _quit._"

"You can't quit! You have nothing else!" A mirthless laugh sounds.

"I have everything else. I can do anything I want to do. Just because it's too late for you—just because you're entire life revolves around one innocent stranger's demise—doesn't mean that it's too late for me."

A door slams.

Silence.

* * *

"Bambi," I call into the room. It's been a few hours, and Turk and I need to leave for our shifts. But I just need to know what's going on before we go. It'll be on my mind for the next eight hours otherwise. 

"Bambi, open up, please?"

Turk and I exchange a look. "Here, I'll pick the lock. He's probably just sleeping," he offers, recognizing my worried look. I'm so glad I've found someone who knows me inside out. I don't even have to speak to communicate with him; he's just there, a part of me.

In an instant the lock is undone.

"How'd you learn to do that?" I marvel, looking over his handiwork.

"Years of practice, baby," he says, grinning cockily. "Years of practice."

I open the door. J.D.'s sleeping on the floor against the bed, wincing as he clutches a hand to his chest. An open suitcase with clothes and various items sloppily thrown in sits to the right of him. My eyes widen.

"J.D., wake up," I say loudly.

"Huh?"

His eyes snap open, bloodshot. He rubs at them, clearly annoyed. "God…what happened?" he groans, breathing hard.

"What's going on here?" I ask him, indicating the suitcase.

"I…" He winces again. "I'm sorry."

"What, you aren't going to explain?" I kneel down to where he's on the floor so I can gage his temperature by feeling his head. He squirms out of my way with a force that knocks the air out of him, causing him to gasp for air.

"Don't…touch me," he manages to say, looking quite panicked.

"Dude, you're acting crazy," says Turk. "Calm down. She knows what she's doing."

"I know that!" J.D. snaps. "I…I'm contagious."

I scoff. "Oh, c'mon. I was right in the car with you the other day and you don't see me keeling over, do you? Sit still. You look awful. They shouldn't have released you so soon…"

"Carla, I can't…go back there." He's struggling to speak, but forcing out the words. Before I can interrupt to protest, he holds up a hand. "For real. I can't. I'll…I'll kill people if I do."

I laugh. "J.D., you wouldn't…"

"No. I wouldn't. That's why I can't go."

"He's delusional. I'll get the car ready," says Turk, ready to bolt.

"Wait!" J.D. halts him. "Wait…I'll explain. Just…listen."

* * *

DUN DUN DUN...! 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: Wish I owned Zach Braff, but fantasies of locking him in my closet and eating the key aren't all that realistic, you know? Besides, I'd need to get out my clothes eventually...I might run the risk of letting him escape! So I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

"Don't freak out," J.D. says meekly. He struggles to balance himself against the bed. "But those men out there aren't my family. They're sorta stalking me." He cracks a rueful grin, thinking to himself.

Again. I wish I knew what was going on in his head.

"Why?" asks Turk. "I don't get it."

"Neither do I. Dan…he wasn't…" He stops and slips into a fit of coughing and doesn't stop.

"J.D., we've got to get you out of here," I nearly squeal once I see the blood on his palm.

"Wait. C'mon, please…let me…" He clears his throat. "Dan wasn't here to visit," he says, gathering his strength and focusing it all on the words. "He was here to take…to take me to these men. I don't know where…they're from," he says, wincing again. "God, this…sucks…" he moans, continually grinning all the while. He looks like a madman, sitting on the floor in apparent agony, a wide smile on his face.

I have the sudden desire to slap him. "It's not funny," I say softy.

"I know," he says, laughing through his pain. "It isn't…They…those men, I mean…they knocked me out. At the coffee shop. They…drove me away in their car…and took me downtown."

"Dan had you _mugged_?" I interrupt, shocked.

He shakes his head. "No. Dan…left after that…and I haven't seen him since." His head hangs, his eyes not meeting ours. He looks so defeated. "I can't go…to the hospital, Carla…because they said…"

He doesn't say anything for a full minute, just staring down at the carpet and trying to catch his breath.

"J.D.," Turk prompts him finally.

"They said…" J.D. continues, "that I carried some sort of lethal disease…and that they were going to use it against…other countries." He laughs, this time hysterically, his voice cracking as he buries his head in his hands. "Apparently it was injected…when I was little. I…don't know how…but—God, how many people…have I killed?" he wonders aloud, staring me right in the eye.

"J.D…don't talk like that," I say, shivering. He looks like the undead. He looks vulnerable, the fear flashing through his eyes, guilt tormenting every inch of his being. His body wracks with sobs that never sound.

"No. I don't even know…how many people…Don't you see? I can't…go to the hospital. I can't risk hurting anyone."

"That's the chance doctors take," Turk asserts. I glance over at him. He's just as shaken as I am, staring at J.D. in disbelief. "I don't care, man, but you need help. You've only been dreaming."

J.D. shakes his head. "You've got to believe me," he pleads. "For your own good, leave me alone. There's no telling if it's contagious or not."

"Bambi," I snap at him, suddenly furious. I feel a tear running down my cheek. "You know that we're not going to leave you here. Especially not after what you just told us. If someone's after you, we have to get you out of here. And…J.D…you look like you're…"

He averts his eyes again. "I am going to die. I'm okay with that. If I die, they can't use me. It'll be better that way. Don't mess it up. Don't let it spread. Please," he begs us.

Everything in my heart tells me to snatch the phone out of Turk's frozen hand and punch in the numbers. Just three little numbers. Somebody to save J.D., the quirky intern, everybody's friend who's always there when you need him…

"Please," he repeated desperately.

"I don't want you to die," I choke, moving closer to him.

He backs away, keeping a safe distance between us. "I'm not afraid," he tells me. I can see the truth in his eyes as he says the words and my heart breaks for him. "I've seen enough death not to be afraid of it anymore."

"Don't do this," says Turk. "You can't. Not after everything we've been through. It's been nine years, damn it!" he curses, his fists clenching at his sides. "Whatever this is, you're gonna beat it. You hear me?"

J.D. offers him a smile. "I hear you," he says. Then he sighs, holding his hand to his head and wincing. "Well, now you know. So go. Don't be late for your shifts, okay?"

I shake my head. "We can't go now, J.D…what if…?"

"I'll be fine," he assures me, waving me off. "It comes and goes. I'll be fine in no time."

"I'll get some Advil." Turk heads for the bathroom to retrieve the bottle, leaving me and J.D. in the room.

"J.D…you don't have to do this," I say, my voice cracking.

"I do. You'd do the same thing, Carla, you know it."

I did know it. Deep down in my heart, I knew exactly how Bambi was feeling. I knew that he didn't want anyone to be hurt—he just wanted to protect the world. But from himself? As a nurse, I could relate with the desire to keep others safe, but _I_ was never the threat. I try really hard to put myself in his shoes and try to understand.

Maybe it is all for the better. Maybe he's right.

Oh, God. I might as well have just killed him by thinking that. I stand up abruptly, too ashamed to face him for a moment. Then I look back at him again, thinking, _This could be the last time I see him. Ever. _

He certainly doesn't look like J.D. He's frail and small and agonized. I can sense his pain, even if he doesn't outwardly show it; I can tell after all these years of nursing that he's just trying to look strong. He's shivering despite the heat, looking more like a kid in his blue scrubs than an intern at a hospital.

It isn't fair. Why J.D., of all people? What did he ever do? All he wanted was to help people. Now he's the one that needs help and he can't even get it. I wish there were a way—some way, _any _way—to stop fate from taking its course, but I know I can't. Sometimes in life you just have to learn…to say good-bye.

"Here. Take these," says Turk, handing J.D. the pills.

J.D. backs up. "Just toss them," he says, holding out his hands. "Don't come too close."

Turk hesitates, but tosses them in the end. J.D. may not be afraid of death, but that doesn't mean everyone else isn't too.

"Could I…could you throw me the phone real fast? I want to call my mom."

"J.D…I called her the first time you were landed in the hospital. She seems really distracted."

He shrugs, swallowing the pills down. "Might as well give her a heads up. Maybe she knows something about this mess."

Something occurs to me as I toss the phone at his open hands. "Didn't…didn't you say J.D.'s dad was killed by a gang?" I ask Turk.

Turk shoots daggers at me with his look. "Carla," he says warningly.

J.D. doesn't even flinch. He seems pretty calm for a guy on his death bed, slowly being tortured by his own body as he inches closer to his demise. "Nah, it's fine. Yeah…he was shot and killed in our neighborhood…a while ago, though."

"Could it be the same gang coming after you now?"

"Dunno," he says, coughing again. I cringe, waiting for it to stop. More blood ends up covering his hands. "Look, it doesn't matter…Go to work. I don't want you guys to get in trouble."

"You know that this is more important than work," says Turk. Even his eyes are starting to water. J.D.'s his best friend; they've known each other for years. I can't say I've ever been good friends with anybody that long, and I'm older than they are by a good five years.

"I'll be right here…when you get back. I can't really go anywhere now," he observes wryly.

Yeah, he'll be here when we get back. Alive or not, we won't know till tonight.

"I'll call Elliot to watch him," Turk blurts out suddenly, a burst of brilliancy on his part.

"Great idea," I agree as he runs out to get the other phone.

"Oh, God," J.D. moans. "You're kidding."

"J.D., there's gotta be someone here with you. We can't leave you alone."

"Yes, you can."

"No, we can't."

"Carla…how am I going to…explain all of that _again_?"

"I'll tell her everything when she gets here," I assure him. "Don't worry. Take it easy. Don't…" The tears are back again. _Don't die_, I want to tell him. _Please don't die. _

He nods in understanding. "I know."

"Elliot's coming. I'll call in sick for you," calls Turk from the kitchen. The phone's hooked to the cord, so he can't come back in.

After a moment of silence, J.D. says, "You need to go. You're already late."

"I promised I'd explain to Elliot," I remind him. "She's close. She'll be here any minute."

"Thanks, Carla."

_Don't thank me! _I think to myself. I'm not the one who's going to die. I'm not the one who has to keep this terrible secret from the rest of the world. I've done nothing.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. Time to explain things again.

* * *

Elliot's POV 

I stand in the doorway of the room because Carla says he won't let me come any closer. Funny thing is, being closer to him right now is all I want, more than anything in the world.

"J.D…"

He smirks. "Nice day, huh?"

He makes everything a joke. In some ways, I needed that right now. "Sure," I say, sitting down in the kitchen chair I'd pulled up.

Silence fills the room after the door shuts. Carla and Turk are leaving, using the back entrance rather than the front just in case those creeps are still out there.

This is way too difficult to even conceive.

"Wish we could play cards or something to pass the time," he jokes lightly, his voice weak.

He looks awful. I feel like I'm staring at a stranger, though I still…want him. I avert my gaze to my feet, unable to look at him any longer. Could he see it? Did he feel the same way I did? I know sometimes I'm painfully obvious about things; what I like about J.D. is that he never faults me for it.

But J.D. doesn't know how I feel about him. And time is running out.

"I…I want to tell you something," I say, taking a deep breath.

"Wait. Me first," says J.D. Then the phone rings. J.D. picks up the cordless phone sitting on the floor beside him and checks the caller ID. "It's my mom," he informs me, hitting the talk button. He hesitates, then raises the phone to his ear.

"Hey…Mom. You got my message?" he asks. I twiddle with my fingers, wondering if I should leave the room. After all, this is pretty intense. There's nothing like being told your kid is going to die before you. I've has to tell patients so many times…I've seen the tears. I've felt their devastation.

"So do you know anything about this?" he asks her softly, barely above a whisper. As he listens to her on the phone, I see his eyes watering. "You…did what?"

Oh, God. I can't handle this. He's going to _die_. He's everything to me! How can he die like this? How can this happen, after all this time? Now it's too late to do anything about it. I'll spend my whole life regretting this—regretting that I never took the chance.

A few moments later he turns his back on me, still perched on the floor because he couldn't lift himself on the bed without coughing terribly. "How…how could you?" His voice catches. I can't see his face, but I can imagine his pain right now. Something tells me that his mom had more to do with this than we thought.

"You didn't even _know _me," he whispers. "I was three. You had _no idea _who I was. How could you just…just…" He takes a moment to catch his breath. I can see him shaking as he struggles to form words. "How could you just _kill _me?"

He drops the phone. "She hung up," he says vaguely, still not turning around.

A few minutes pass. I let him cry, pretending not to notice. I see him, though; I can hear the suppressed sobs. I can feel my own tears as they run down my face. I want to hold him. I want to be with him one last time, before the passion is gone forever in a stone cold grave.

My heart skips a beat. Life without J.D. seems…unbearable. What will I do with myself? I hate to be worrying about _my _problems, considering all that J.D. has to face, but I _need _him. Even if I can't have him, the idea of it, the possibility that one day it would work, has kept me hoping for months.

After awhile he regains control of himself and says as steadily as possible, "They paid her and my father twenty thousand dollars, fully aware that I could—would most likely—end up dead."

I couldn't have heard that right. "What?" I stammer.

"I was three years old…she said. They…they didn't think I'd amount to anything. They had all their hopes on…on Dan," he says, and then has to stop for a moment to compose himself again. "She…she let me go to _college._ She let me become a _doctor. _How…how could she let me, when…she knew it would amount to nothing?"

_Three years old? _I try to imagine a three-year-old in my mind, and see a toddler. A little kid that can hardly speak. Based on that, his parents went ahead and sold his life away? I can't even imagine. I can't believe I ever thought my parents were cruel. At least they believed in me and gave me a chance, even if they kept wanting to believe a little too much.

"You know that's not true," I say, holding back a sob. "You know that it didn't amount to nothing. We've made a difference just being interns, J.D. You've changed so many people's lives forever in just the past eleven months. Not very many people can say that, J.D., but you can. Because you're determined and you stop at nothing to help people." I get up off of the kitchen chair I pulled up earlier and take a step toward him. "Because you aren't selfish—you aren't there for the money or the glory or anything else. You're there because you _want _to be. You're there to help people." I'm practically gushing tears and snot now, as unappealing as it is, but I don't even care. Finally I burst, "And it's _not fair_! It's just plain _not fair_! Because…because…"

He turns around, alarmed by my sudden energy. Worried about me. God, he's so perfect, even when he's practically half-dead on the carpet. He's perfect. He's everything.

"Because," I repeat, feeling completely calm and self-assured looking into his eyes, "I love you."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: You know the drill. I hope.

Sorry it's been a while. I'm so, so, SO stressed out. I can't even think of a witty comment to complement that. Once we hit July I might be able to update more frequently between the two and a half hours of swimming I'll be slaving towards every day. Heh.

* * *

Carla's POV

"Carla?" Lavern snaps her fingers in my face obnoxiously. "Wake up. Interns at eight o'clock."

I pull myself out of my stupor. "Oh," I say lightly, watching the group of them approach. "Wait, what time did you say?"

"Eight o'clock. You okay? You been out of it all day," says Lavern, shaking her head.

No. No, I'm not okay. I'm miserable and guilt-ridden because I just left two interns helpless and alone in an apartment, one dying and the other one most likely hyperventilating, as some creeps watch for them from the ground floor so they can extract a killer disease.

"I'm fine," I say, flashing her a smile. Do it for J.D., I think to myself. This is what he wants. So I bite my tongue despite the difficulty I face. I've always taken it upon myself to do what I believe is right for people, even if they disagree with me. Patient doesn't want surgery? I tell them it's necessary and convince them to get it. Intern freaked out and hiding in the closet? I tell them what happens to interns who hide in closets, and I tell 'em good.

But this…this was different.

"So this is the on call group?" I assume, looking over the faces. "I'm leaving in an hour. Sooner, if I can," I add, watching them file in, most of them looking tired. Then I see a face that looks terribly out of place. "Dr. Cox? Why are you…?"

He scowls. "Long story. Where's Newbie, I need to strangle him…"

I freeze on the spot. He knows. Oh, my God, he _knows. _

"Oh, you mean J.D.? He's…uh…at the apartment."

"Doing what, exactly?" Dr. Cox asks suspiciously.

And then I realize he's just playing that stupid pick-on-the-intern game. He's not serious. He has no idea what's happening and I'm being unnecessarily paranoid.

I shrug. "Turk called in sick for him. I guess he's just resting," I say, forcing a smile. "He'll be…fine by tomorrow morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a whole slew of patients I have to…"

He grabs my shoulder after I turn around. "No, really. Where's Newbie?"

I duck to free myself of him. "_I _don't know. Turk saw him last, go ask him," I say, mustering up as much irritability I can manage.

He gives me a funny, disbelieving look. "Carla. I know you better than that. You're—" His pager beeps. "Damn it. This isn't over," he reminds me before he runs off.

I flinch. Right at this moment J.D. could be dead, and here we are arguing. Dr. Cox, I found out later, had been paged by Kelso to do some stitches, and it wasn't really as urgent as he'd made it sound. I wish Bambi could be fixed that easily. I wish there was a way to fix him.

I look over at the clock some time later. Dr. Cox still hasn't been able to approach me with the constant calls from Kelso—some of them _were _urgent, so he could hardly ignore it—but I feel like I owe it to him to stick around, even though my shift ends in two minutes.

My stomach sinks. Every minute I spend here will be another minute J.D. and Elliot have to be alone in that apartment.

"Carla."

Ah. Speak of the devil.

"Dr. Cox," I greet him, nodding and shuffling the patient clipboards as if I'm actually attempting to accomplish something. Truth be told, I've done absolutely nothing to earn the money I've made in the past eight hours, absolutely nothing at all. I feel like I've been floating like a drug addict on a cloud. I might as well be dreaming. This all seems unreal.

"You know where Newbie is and you're going to tell me so I can wring his neck. If you refuse to oblige to this small, miniscule request, not only will you be joining him, but I may actually find a way to fling you into the third dimension, as well—that way I can assure your spirit doesn't come back to haunt me every time I pinch a nurse on the ass or try to taunt Bob—"

I drop one of the clipboards. I should pick it up, but I don't. Dr. Cox stops talking and stares at me, actually seeing me, for the first time during his rant. He sees my worry. Now he gets it.

"What's going on?" he demands.

I slam the rest of the clipboards down on the counter. "He's dying and there's nothing we can do," I say as quietly as I can, starting to cry again.

"What?" Dr. Cox's eyes widen. "What the hell are you talking about? Damn it, Carla, you're not making any sense—"

"I don't even know if he's still _alive_—" I blubber.

"Where is he? What room is he in?"

"He's not here, he's back at the apartment!" I interrupt him. I grab his arm and start dragging him out to the parking lot. He doesn't protest, following along with a twisted expression on his face.

"Then get him to the hospital, you idiot!" he exclaims on our way out. "What are you _thinking? _Don't tell me you actually _listened _to him begging you not to take him. I know doctors. They're all cocky. They say 'Don't take me to the hospital, I'm fine' and then _bad things happen to them._" We arrive at my car and he looks me dead in the eye. "I don't want…"

"It's too late," I tell him. I see Turk's car is already gone and he must have gotten off early to go back to the apartment. "Get in the car, I'll explain on the way."

"This," Dr. Cox growls, "had better be good."

* * *

Elliot's POV

Someone knocks on the door. By now J.D.'s asleep on the floor, but still breathing, at least. I checked his pulse earlier, believing it isn't as contagious as he thinks. I've been on the floor next to him holding his hand for about three hours now.

_I love you, too, _he'd told me. I wonder how I can feel so alive and happy and at the same moment be mourning for a death that hasn't happened yet.

"Turk?" I ask. "Carla? You're early."

"Yeah…could you let me in?"

Wait. I don't know that voice.

"One second," I say, hoping that Turk just has a cold or something. I check into the peephole that looks out to the hallway. Before I can stop myself I let out a gasp.

"You gonna let me in?" the man repeats, a malicious grin forming on his face. He laughs. "Look, little missy, I don't need you. All I want is your little friend in there. You just gotta turn the knob and let me in and you're fine. I'll never bother you again. But if you don't," he snickers, "then boy, do I have a surprise for you."

He doesn't flash a gun, but I have a feeling that's only a precaution considering he's standing in a hallway.

"Leave us alone," I demand through gritted teeth. "Don't you think you've done enough? He's _dying _in there."

Now it's his turn to be shocked. "What? You mean…it's already taking its course?"

I frown. "What did you expect? Weren't you the ones who injected him with it? Now he's going to die and there's nothing we can do about it. He won't even go into the hospital because he's afraid to infect people. You see what you've—"

"Damn it," the man nearly yells, slamming his head against the door frame. It rattles loudly.

"What's going on?" J.D. calls from the bedroom.

"Nothing," I call back. "What's your problem?" I hiss at the man. "It's your fault. Don't tell me you actually care about J.D."

"Shut up, you bitch," he curses at me. "Do you realize what this means? After all these years we've been waiting for this stupid damn disease to climax…_decades_, I've been waiting! A lifetime of work and preparation! He wasn't supposed to get sick till _next week_…I had everything planned out…"

"I—I don't understand," I manage to say.

"Understand this, asshole—once the disease starts, I can't take it out of him. I needed it to be dormant. Fully developed in him—that's why we waited—but _dormant_. Now it's out of control. Now there's nothing we can do to harness it."

"And J.D.'s going to die," I wail, turning away from the hole in the wall. "He's going to die feeling guilty, thinking he's killed people by spreading it, you horrible bastard."

"It's not contagious, you moron. You have to have it injected. Quit with the dramati—"

I hear a slam and I shriek.

"Elliot?" J.D. calls out, panicked.

"I'm fine!" I assure him, opening the door. The man is unconscious on the floor with a bloodied up nose. Turk stands over him, rubbing his fist.

"Whoa," he says. "I don't think I've ever done that before."

I nearly fall over with relief. "Thank God," I breathe. I look at the man's waist belt. Sure enough, there's a gun strapped to him. "Turk, you just saved my _ass_…"

"Don't mention it. How's J.D.?"

"Sleeping. Well, he was sleeping. He's awake now."

"And I can hear every word you're saying," he calls back, his voice raspy. "What just happened?"

"Hey, how are you?" asks Turk, throwing off his sweater.

"Fine," J.D. calls.

I mouth the words '_Not really'_ at Turk, and he nods, understanding. "What _did _just happen?" he asks under his breath, repeating J.D.'s question.

"That guy tried to get in here and take J.D.," I explain. Then I grin. "But you'll never believe what he told me."

"What?"

He follows me into J.D.'s room, but J.D. has conked out already. I walk up to him and shake his arm shoulder.

"Elliot, what if—"

"Don't worry," I tell Turk, looking back with a wide grin, "it isn't—" I realize that my shaking is doing nothing. "J.D.?" I squeak. "J.D., wake up."

"No way," Turk exclaims, as scared as I am. He rushes up to us and checks J.D.'s pulse, seeing as I've completely frozen in my spot from shock. For a breathless moment he searches, but sighs in relief when he finds something. "He's good. Just unconscious."

"This is just getting worse," I moan.

"What were you going to tell me?" Turk asks.

"J.D.'s not contagious after all. And now that he's sick, they can't…they can't use the disease!" I yelp. It finally occurs to me what this means. "He said something about the virus thing needing to be dormant for him to use it…"

"Elliot," Turk interrupts, his voice pained. "You…believed him?"

I stare at Turk, dumbstruck. "Yeah," I whisper, my heart sinking. "I guess I did."

"Sorry," he mutters, drawing away from J.D. "You…you shouldn't get too close," he warns me, heading to the bathroom to wash his hands. "You never know."

"No," I say, shaking my head. It's all clear to me now. I love him and this time, for once, _he_ needed _me_. "I know."

"Okay, then." He doesn't question me after that, and I continue to hold J.D.'s hand as I have been for the past few hours before the man came. "I'll take care of…what's-his-name," Turk finally says to break the silence.

"How?"

"Not sure yet," he says, a slight smile forming. "Better do something, though. Looks a little suspicious to the neighbors, you know?"

"Good god, Carla, what _is _this?"

Oh. Shit.

"D-Dr. Cox!" Turk stammers.

"Yeah, that's right. Gotta problem? Don't wet your pants, intern."

I look out the window. How far would the drop be if I jumped? I wonder to myself, trying to think of an escape route. There has to be some way…

"This isn't what it looks like," Turk attempts to explain.

"Really? It looks like an unconscious man with a broken nose, if you ask me," Dr. Cox shoots back. "What kind of neighborhood—"

"Dr. Cox," Carla breaks in, "that's one of the men trying to get J.D."

I don't hear a fancy pants rebuttal to that.

"And damn, was his skull thick."

"How's J.D. doing?" asks Carla, refocusing her attention. I can hear them drawing nearer to the room.

"He's unconscious," Turk tells her, sighing. "He's still holding on, though."

"So this _is _serious," Dr. Cox states. He's probably hoping someone will wave him off and say, "No, no, no…what are you talking about? He'll be fine. It's just a cold. April Fool's!"

But it's June. And J.D.'s not that lucky. Dr. Cox is in for the same shock that I had thrust on me hours ago.

Oddly enough, though, I seem to be dealing with it. It's all numb to me now. I know in my mind that J.D.'s done for, but I keep believing he's going to pull through. It helps to focus on this second, this moment, instead of what lies ahead.

But God, do I hope he wakes up. If he doesn't...I can't even remember the last things I said to him! This can't be it. He's going to get up. J.D. will fight it, I know he will. We're depending on him.

"Yes. It's serious," Carla confirms.

They walk into the room and I feel like bawling all over again. It makes it so real, seeing their solemn faces. Even Dr. Cox looks grave.

"You told him?" I ask faintly.

She nods apologetically. "I couldn't stand it. I couldn't lie to him."

Without hesitating, Dr. Cox kneels down next to me and starts inspecting J.D. "Pulse is slow," he mutters, mostly to himself. He looks at my shocked, confused expression and says, "Barbie, Carla told me everything. If your jaw gets any wider it'll pop off your plastic face. Now please, do I need to call Mattel for a warranty or can you answer my questions?"

"Shoot," I tell him, trying to be more professional about this and less freaked out.

"How has he been for the past few hours?"

"Coughing a lot," I tell him. "Coughing up blood—a lot of it," I add, seeing the red on his hands and wincing. "Occasionally he drifts in and out of consciousness, and he can't really move off of the floor. His head's been hurting and breathing is pretty shallow. There isn't a thermometer in the apartment, but he's got a high fever, I'm pretty sure."

Oh, and he said he loved me. That empty, insecure space in my heart has finally been filled. But you know how those things go. Fine one moment, losing the love of your life the next.

He nods in acknowledgement. "And we have no idea what this is?"

"I told you everything I know," Carla says.

I don't mention what the man told me, but I do remember the phone call. "His mom was on the phone," I announce. "She…she said that the virus was injected inside of him when he was three years old. They paid his parents twenty thousand dollars." I swallow hard, unable to hold back the tears anymore. I don't care who sees. They'll be crying in a second, too.

"His parents…let this happen?" Carla utters in disbelief.

I accidentally emit a sniffle, trying to hide my face from the three of them. "J.D. said that his mom and dad were counting on Dan to be the golden child. Dan works as a bartender," I snort through my tears. "J.D. didn't deserve this."

"Nobody would," says Carla.

Dr. Cox just gets up and stares at his shoes for a moment. "I find this all very hard to take in, but I guess there's no other option," he says soberly. "I'll try to do something."

Looking at the determination in his eyes, I believe that. Dr. Cox cares about all the interns despite all the anger he manages to dole out on us through rants—especially J.D. There's no doubt in my mind that he'll help by doing whatever is humanly possible.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Hey, to the five people reading this. Finals are over soon, so I might--GASP--get some free time before work and swim team and rehearsal and campus visiting (yes, I'm only a rising sophomore, but it's never to early to start...) and camp. Maybe I'll update in a month! (Big sarcastic grin). Lol. Nah. Sooner dan that.

Disclaimer: Don't own scrubs.

* * *

Dr. Cox 

I close my eyes, trying to think about this. Whatever I do now could be life or death for Newbie. I hate this responsibility. It's different with a patient—you don't know who they are, you don't know about their lives, and it's simple that way. But Newbie…I'd grown accustomed to him over the past eleven months of his internship, and I know more about him than I should.

At this moment I hate him. He walked into the hospital like the ideal intern—not too cocky, just the right amount of fear (it leads to respect), smart and capable. And he wasn't just doing it to suck-up, either. He actually _stayed_ that way, which is a first.

And now he's dying. _Now _he's screwed up, and it's not even his fault. I'd rather have him be a cocky, unprofessional, idiot intern than dead. So I have to hate him, even more than I've hated the rest, for actually giving me hope that there are actual, real doctors being trained out there in the world.

There is Barbie, of course, but I barely know her, and Baldie over there isn't my responsibility at all. I sigh, accepting the decision I know I have to make.

"I think the only chance he's got is hitting him with antibiotics," I finally resort, looking over at Carla. "As many as we can hit him with."

"Yeah," she agrees quietly. She knows the risks. We all know the risks, which makes it a million times more hard than if we had been bank accountants or attorneys.

"Let's do it," Elliot finally confirms, growing what appears to be a backbone. "It's better than sitting around here."

Turk nods. "Dr. Cox, you can get the antibiotics. Interns would…"

"Look suspicious," I finish for him. "Right. I'll go."

I take one last look over at Newbie, hoping that it won't really be good-bye. But then I snap out of it. This isn't a time to be wishy-washy. Besides, there's an entire sea of interns out there.

But none of them, I think to myself while I get in the car, would ever be like him.

* * *

Carla's POV 

Turk paces around the kitchen. Elliot sits absent-mindedly, staring blankly at JD like he's a television screen. I guess I'm half-way between bursting into hysterical, crazy tears and bashing my head against a wall.

Of all the patients I've ever had, I've never been truly helpless to do something. But it looks as if JD's going to….well…

"Elliot!" I gasp. "Don't touch him…"

She laughs softly. "I've already made out with him. I think I'm sunk," she deadpans. "I mean, when we were—"

"Yeah, I know." I'd say more, something along the lines of you-idiot-now-you're-gonna-die-too, but this whole thing is a little too terrifying to say anything at all. She knows the potential consequences. I've warned her. There's nothing we can do.

"I wish I had another chance," Elliot sighs, still clutching to his hand.

"Hey," I remind her sternly, "it's not over."

She shakes her head. "It's been over since day one."

I think back to the day that these interns massacred my life. Interns—they came and went, they barked orders at nurses and became just as cocky as the rest of them. Usually I'd just work through it, help them and accept it when they grew up. But these guys were my _friends_. Hell, I'm in love with Turk. A year ago, if someone had even joked about me befriending—even dating—any intern, I would have slapped them upside the head.

And now I stand here and realize that I have everything that seemed impossible. But it's falling apart.

I know JD is Turk's best friend. He'll never be the same without him. And JD is generally what keeps Elliot functioning as a human being. What are we going to do without him? He's like the glue that holds our awkwardly shaped puzzle together.

"Stop pacing!" I finally snap at Turk, for lack of anything else to do.

He stops in his tracks, planting himself on a stool. "I can't," he protests. "I'm just…I'm just gonna walk outside for a moment."

"Turk," I say warningly.

"Just a moment," he repeats, his hand already on the doorknob. "Dammit…the guy's gone."

I wince as the door slams behind him, knowing he's referring to Mr. Bloody Nose. Just one more thing we have to cross off our to-do list. JD flinches in his unconscious state, and for a fleeting moment the two of us still in the room think there's a chance he's waking.

Once he is motionless again, I stare at the closed door. I wish I could tell Turk I know how he feels, and that everything would be okay. But I have no idea how it feels to lose your best friend—I losing Bambi, the kid I'd taught the ropes of the hospital, not JD, the guy I'd known for almost nine years.

* * *

_Turk is gone now. I'm still penetrating the sidewalk with my eyes, searching for Elliot, and the mass of black is slowly descending. I try to call out Elliot's name, but nothing comes out. I can't make any noise—I look up and see that I'm trapped._

_The black cloud is suffocating me. I can't hear anything at all, I can' t see, I can't even move, but I'm still searching. Wait—what am I searching for? An empty, hopeless feeling envelops me as I realize I have no idea what I'm doing here except dying. _

_Why do I feel so lost? I feel like I'm not finished. I'm supposed to escape, but I don't know where to go. And all the while, the cloud…_

The images are blurry around me. Where the hell am I? My brain wracks, trying to remember what's happening. Everything hurts. I'm supposed to be aware of something. _Something…_but _what_?

Oh, right. I'm going to die.

"JD?" I hear Elliot's voice.

That's what I was looking for…Elliot. For a second she comes into a blurry focus. "Back _up_," I try to order her, by my voice comes out inaudibly rasped.

"Carla, he's up!" Elliot announces. I wince at the sound of her voice. My whole world seems exaggerated—noises are too loud, the room is freezing, I can hardly see. I feel almost as if I can feel every individual, agonized organ in my body, struggling to function.

"God, JD…I've been so scared—" Elliot chokes up.

_Don't cry. Please don't cry. _I wish I could say it aloud, but as soon as I try to speak my throat closes up completely. I try to move away from her, but my head spins dizzily at the first move it makes. I'm trapped. _She's _trapped. I'm going to kill Elliot with this horrible disease.

"He's awake!" Carla gasps. "Oh, Bambi—we thought you were—"

Dead. They thought I was going to die.

"But don't worry," Elliot interrupts, her voice still shaky. "Dr. Cox is getting antibiotics. He says it's…well, it's the only thing we have a shot at."

I must be frowning or something, because Carla somehow reads my confused thoughts. I don't think she quite translates the "what-the-hell-I-thought-I-told-you-to-keep-quiet-about-this-how-many-more-people-am-I-gonna-end-up-killing" message, but close enough.

"Don't freak out. I…I told him," Carla admits.

"We're not taking you to the hospital," Elliot assures me.

Yeah, but now all of _you _are going to die. "But…" I manage. It's all that comes out.

"Don't," Carla halts me. "We know the risks. It doesn't matter, JD."

I realize that the warm feeling on my hand is Elliot, wrapping her hand around mine. The familiar warmth is comforting, despite the guilt sinking into me as I think about how I could be killing them as they speak.

My thoughts are completely jumbled. It's difficult to focus on all these different problems at once—I mean, was I hallucinating a couple of hours ago, or did Elliot and I proclaim our love for each other? It seems a little wild to me now. And right before I blanked out there was a man here. One of the men trying to get the disease out of me. Oh, no.

"The…the man out…side the door," I prompt them.

"Is gone," Elliot answers, twisting her hair nervously.

I nod, or at least I think I do. It's so awkward, the three of us sitting here, waiting for the inevitable to happen. For the first time in my life I'm truly afraid of something, and yet I feel too numb to understand it. Isn't death supposed to be euphoric? Aren't you supposed to look back on your life, smile at how wonderful it was and just let go?

But I'm not in some happy place. I hurt all over. I just want this to end, even if it means…even if it means death.

No. No, I don't want to die! My life is only beginning. If I could just—if anything could stop it—I mean, I'm a _doctor _now. After all these years of work and patience and stress, I'm finally a doctor and I love what I do. I feel like I have a purpose.

How is it fair, that all of a sudden it's taken from me? I mean, c'mon. At least I could have been done the favor of dying quickly. This was just awful. And cold. Cold enough that Elliot's badly-circulated hands felt like volcanic warmth.

Not even mentioning the irony of this—a doctor dying of a strange, unknown disease. I almost snort in spite of myself, but I ache too much to even try.

The door opens. "Hey," says Turk softly, "you're awake."

"Yeah." My voice sounds like a cactus is scraping my throat apart. I've never seen a real, live cactus before. Well, there goes one of the things I have to do before I die.

I vaguely recall a patient who refused dialysis earlier on in my internship as the subject of death comes up. I'd made her a list of things to do before she died, to convince her not to give up. It took me forever to write that list. I put a lot of thought into it, adding over a hundred things to it in just two hours.

_Learn a foreign language. Visit the Eiffel Tower. Eat the hot dogs in New York. Go bungee jumping…_

She'd asked me then why I was with her instead of doing these things myself. _Well, because I have my whole life ahead of me_, I wanted to say at the time. I didn't. That night I cried after she passed away and buried the memory deep in my mind—but now it's back. All those things that I'd wanted to do, that everyone wants to do, were impossible now.

"How're you doing?" asks Turk.

I give him a slight smile, glad that I'm too tired to cry. "G-great."

My eyelids feel heavy. I just want to sleep, but I'm too scared. What if it's the last time I'm awake? What if the last thing I see is the carpet of the apartment? Not that the carpet is to blame for anything, but nonetheless, it's not exactly inspirational.

An awkward silence follows Turk's arrival. I wish I could come up with some sort of joke to lighten the mood, but my brain is having enough trouble processing ordinary things like breathing as it is. I couldn't tell a joke if I tried. The ultimate degree of defenselessness.

"Any minute now," Carla says, mostly to herself.

Any minute what? Any minute I'll be dead? Any minute they'll drop to the floor with me? Any minute that man will come back and try to use me to destroy the world or some crazy scheme?

"It's been an hour or so," Elliot reminds her. "I think I should page him."

That's right. Dr. Cox. Oh, crap…I didn't want him in here. Had he already been here? This is embarrassing. I'd rather not have to deal with this. If I'm going to die, can't I take my dignity with me?

I hear the front door opening. Carla leaps up to answer the intruder, Turk following close behind. A secret part of me is relieved when Elliot stays.

"It's going to be okay," she whispers, and I wonder if she knows I can hear her.

"You're never going to believe what just happened."

It's Dr. Cox. I could recognize his voice anywhere—after all the rants I've had to sit through, it's impossibly hard _not _to know it. Heck, I hear his voice ranting in my ears even when he's not around, it's gotten that distinctive in my mind.

"What?" asks Carla. "Did you get the antibiotics?"

"No. Better."

* * *

REVIEW, FIVE PEOPLE READING THIS, REVIEW! 


End file.
